


The Best of the Bargain

by chains_archivist



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Boys in Chains, M/M, Slaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 07:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4254165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Mystique</p><p>Virgin pleasure-boy for sale! Buy your hot Jedi pleasure-boy here! Get 'em while they last!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).  
> -  
> The Best of the Bargain by Mystique
> 
> Fandom: Star Wars - TPM (Obi-Wan/OMC)  
> Rating: PG this part (for language) NC-17 overall  
> Archive: Written for BIC (Slave!Fic)  
> My website http://www.ravenswing.com/~mystique  
> Master Apprentice: Archive when complete. I'll send clean HTML  
> Spoilers: not one  
> Warnings: Not exactly violent rape, but consent is dubious. Well, it  
> *is* a slave fic. Also contains some robust language. (That's swearing,  
> folks!)  
> Summary: Virgin pleasure-boy for sale! Buy your hot Jedi pleasure-boy  
> here! Get 'em while they last!  
> Notes: Another story that started in IRC, although if I spent less time  
> chatting, I'd probably get more written. Thankyou to RavenD, Fukurou,  
> Mac and Smitty for listening to my waffling.

So, yeah, maybe I've had a few drinks, but I want to tell you about this  
boy I had once. Bear with me, sweet cheeks, it's not much of a tale, but  
you never know, you might find it entertaining.

It starts on Blevvins, I guess. You know the place? No, I didn't think  
so. It's not quite the arse-end of the universe, but it's getting there.  
Just outside of Republic space, it's another one of those border  
trading systems where you can find everything from the legal-but-exotic  
to the downright 'lock-you-up-and-throw-away-the-key' stuff. There's a  
big market for Rim artifacts, ores, crystals, drugs, slaves, droids; you  
name it. And spice, of course, which is why I was there.

It was about three standard after Jameel... In fact, it was *exactly*  
three years since the stupid fuck made a big crater on a small moon, and  
I suppose that was why I was well on my way to getting drunk that day.  
I'd got a big payout for a hot shipment out of Kessel, with a nice  
little earner for the return trip to Verduine, and I was on the lookout  
for a droid. Something humanoid to help out, clean up after me -- the  
usual. I should have left it till I'd sobered up, but I was panting to  
get off of that poxy ball of dirt. So anyway, that's why I was in  
Saartors having a few more drinks and waiting for the droid auction.  
There was a couple of service droids available, and an astromech that I  
was vaguely interested in -- if the price was right.

Saartors is, or rather was, one of the biggest auction houses in  
Belvvins Port, and the prices were better than most on account of  
Saartors blind eye to some of the legalities. Anyway, like I said, I  
was sitting there nursing an ale, feeling a bit maudlin, and trying to  
ignore the slave sale that was in progress. It was pretty hard, what  
with the huge vid-screens around the room and all, relaying the  
ehibition of wares from the central stage, like it was some kind of  
stage show. Honest, there are people who come just to watch. I don't  
know how anyone could find this stuff entertaining. They're so  
depressing. I've got nothing against the slave trade, don't get me  
wrong, but I reckon its got to be the worst kind of racket to be  
involved in. The whole miserable parade was nearly over, and I was glad  
of it.

They usually save the luxury items till last, bringing out the bed  
slaves and breeders when the usual business has been done. The utility  
slaves have already been traded, and only the rich and those buyers  
still with a bit of spare cash burning a hole in their pockets are left.

I actually glanced up from my beer when the last lot came up, just out  
of curiousity. A 'virgin pleasure boy' the description said, and you  
know I can't resist a look... And, I'm not making it up, my jaw just  
dropped. In that second I just saw the most fuckable little morsel I had  
ever clapped eyes on.

Even now, I don't know what it was about him, exactly. He was an  
ordinary human male, neither tall nor short, no longer a child, and not  
quite a man. He was too masculine to be pretty, too slim to be butch,  
too well muscled to be delicate, and yet he was nothing but desirable.  
It was the whole package, you see.

He just stood there, calm and dignified. Now, some of these sluts have  
been traded back and forth so often they just stand there, jiggling  
their tits or their tails and showing their teeth on cue. Others, well,  
they just show their fear.

They doll them up, the decorative ones, and they'd done the usual job on  
this young man. He was near-naked and his body was brushed with some  
gold glittery powder. They'd done up his short hair so that it shone,  
this strange little plait snaking down his chest to brush a rouged  
nipple. And such a lush nipple. A big rosy nub, the kind that you just  
want to rub your fingers across just to feel it harden under you. I was  
licking my lips at that, I tell you, and my fingers were itching.

Saartor's handlers pushed the boy into the spotlight and made him turn  
around and around displaying his body. I guessed they'd given him a mild  
dose of spice to get him moving in that sexy, langourous way. He was  
some kind of athlete, I think, or maybe an acrobat. They got him to do  
a few manouevres, handstands, backflips and stretches to demonstrate his  
physical prowess and his flexibility. He did as he was told, never  
giving the impression that he was reluctant despite the disdainful  
expression on his face. He just seemed to take it all in his stride,  
like he was totally above the whole thing. I have to say, I was  
impressed.

I had a look at the big information displays, interested now despite  
myself. I mean, who wouldnt be? The boy's stats weren't particularly  
exceptional. He was of average height, average weight, but one thing  
stood out: he'd been mind-wiped.

Mind-wiping. It's sick, as far as I'm concerned. But it gave me pause,  
you know? It meant that the boy was either a problem slave or, more  
likely, a recent captive; and to be honest, you never really know where  
you are with those. Made me wonder where he came from, although I can't  
say I was really that bothered.

He was being marketed as a decorative virgin pleasure-slave, and, with  
training, a possible fighter. I could see that. The way he moved was  
predatory, and I had no problems imagining him being trained up for the  
arena or for the ring.

It would be a shame though, I thought, as a fighters life would soon  
re-arrange those even, unremarkable features into something far uglier,  
and cover that golden body with the marks of a harsh and brutal trade.  
And, unless they're real special, you know how short those fighters  
lives usually are. If he was my slave I wouldn't subject him to the  
ring. I'd keep him by me. Maybe he could be my helper by day, and lover  
by night. If he was mine, I could fuck him when I pleased. I could  
run my hands over his body, tease those nipples, bend him over, spread  
him and prepare him, order him into my bed, open his legs and just take  
him. Then fuck him till he screamed for mercy. Any time. Any time I  
wanted. If he was mine.

I don't really know what came over me. Lust, I suppose, because Mister  
Organ down there was definitely taking an interest at this point. So  
when the bid light flashed on the monitor, I keyed in my credit code and  
hit send.

I wasn't the only one, of course. I mean, as soon as this kid had shown  
up half the audience had been staring at him with their tongues hanging  
out. Whoever was operating the data screens wanted everyone to get a  
good eyeful, too. They kept flashing up pictures of his hands and chest  
and face, all made up to look like some whore. And it was working! The  
bids were climbing higher and higher and Saartor was looking mighty  
pleased with himself.

Now Saartor was a pus filled slime-bag if ever there was one. Dead now,  
for cheating a Hutt, and that's one mistake you don't ever make twice.  
Anyway, he was sliding his hands over this boy, describing all his  
attributes in detail. Actually got a bit of a reaction from the boy,  
who was trying to lean away from those greedy hands without being  
obvious about it. Maybe he really was a virgin after all, I thought.

I realised at this point that if I had my way I wasn't going to get  
these droids, but I didn't really care, not after Sartor made the boy  
take his pants off. Not that those things cover much, anyway. This kid,  
well he might have been young, but he was definitely no little boy, if  
you know what I mean.

The boy was discreetly trying to cover himself, and Saartor, the creep,  
was trying to bat his hands away and uncover the goods. I would have  
missed it, because the screens were choosing that moment to flash huge  
images of his naked and rather pert butt around the room, but just when  
he did it, I was actually looking directly at *him* instead of the  
screens. You know what he did? Quick as a flash, he grabbed one of  
Saartors flabby hands and put him in a thumb lock. Just like that. He  
didn't know what to do then, and a look of confusion came over his face,  
so he let go. But at least Saartor stepped back and stopped handling the  
merchandise.

Interesting.

Well, that should have put me off right then and there, but damn, I was  
hot for this boy, and he didn't scare me. I mean, he didn't look like a  
hard case, you know. And, I hate to admit it, there was something about  
him that reminded me a bit of Jameel, even though they looked nothing  
alike.

I was pretty lucky. That little demonstration had been caught by more  
than a few observant buyers, and a lot of them dropped out. Saartor was  
rubbing his hand and looking daggers at the boy, who was steadfastly  
ignoring him, but he was pretty happy to take my credits in the end. So  
how easy was that? Walk into an auction house, one hour and a bit of  
cash later and suddenly I'm a slaveowner.

TBC   
Please see part 1 for warnings  
This part rated PG


	2. Chapter 2

So there I was, proud owner of one fairly decorative, probably  
dangerous, possibly virgin pleasure slave. Saartor looked almost glad  
to be rid of him when he handed me the papers and the transmitter for  
the implant. You've heard of that? The Hutts started using them on  
their slaves years ago, and now everyone's doing it. Brutal but  
effective. It's like a little bomb, somewhere in the slave's body. One  
touch on the trigger and blammo! Instant slave porridge.

He was making out like he was quite an obedient little thing. I say  
"little", but he was nearly as tall as me, just not so well built.  
Yeah, I know, I'm a fine figure of a man. We headed back to the ship  
and he fell into step about half a pace behind me and to the left, like  
he'd been doing it forever. I had to push him to make him walk in front  
of me where I could keep an eye on him. He might have been unarmed, but  
I'm no fool, and I'd seen that fancy move he pulled on Saartor. The kid  
was by no means completely tamed. Anyway, I figured he was only going  
along with this obedience thing until he could figure out a way of  
escaping, but with the detonator remote in my hot little hands, that  
wasn't an option just yet.

He still didn't act much like a slave. He was looking around him,  
taking everything in, instead of keeping his eyes down like he was  
supposed to. Yeah, definitely new at the job. We got quite a few looks,  
I can tell you, going back to the spaceport, a shabby looking freighter  
captain and a half naked youth, painted gold and jingling.

Now I had this boxy-looking little barge back in those days, with the  
usual modifications, of course, but she didn't look like much from the  
outside. My purchase raised his glittering eyebrows at the sight of the  
ship but wisely said nothing. By the time we got aboard the old girl he  
was actually beginning to look a little apprehensive. He didn't look  
scared exactly, but he was looking at me in a way that made me think he  
was trying to decide whether to fight or flee. I didn't give him the  
option.

"See this here? Know what it is?" I said, holding up the detonator  
remote. He nodded, twice. "Well, I'm holding on to it for now, so  
don't get any clever ideas. Understand? You pull anything, anything at  
all, and you're a nasty red smear on the deck."

There was a pause, and he nodded again. "Yes, Master."

His accent was curious, very refined. I bet he was from the galactic  
core somewhere. You don't learn to talk like he did out here on the  
rim.

"Get your pants off." I told him. He did so, really slowly, and I was  
grinning all the time. Yeah, it was a pretty good view all right. "Now  
go and shower. Wash that shit off your face."

He looked a bit surprised, but he hopped off down to the 'fresher, quick  
as a flash. I expect he'd thought I was going to screw him to the  
flight deck floor, right there and then. Nah. I was going to take my  
purchase home, unwrap it gently and enjoy it fully.

I was busy while he was cleaning up. Made a few modifications. I could  
tell already that it was going to be quite tricky to break this one in,  
make him submit to me and I was looking forward to it. You know me, I  
love a challenge.

He came back stark naked, and I made him stand under the lights so I  
could get a good look. Hmm, well he was a little younger than I'd  
thought at first, maybe 18 or 19 standard, good and strong, nice firm  
youthful body, It wasn't like he was perfect or anything, but he was  
pretty good all round. I could see why they'd covered him in that gold  
gunk though. He looked worn and tired and, from the fading yellow marks  
on his body, I guessed he'd been in a bit of a battle. A week or so  
earlier, perhaps.

"So, you're a virgin?" I asked. It was looking more and more unlikely,  
considering the placement of some of those bruises.

He shrugged eloquently. "I might as well be."

"Master," I reminded him. I knew what he meant, though. If he'd ever  
done it before, he didn't recall the event.

"Well, with those mind wipes, your brain might forget, but the body  
remembers," I told him. He seemed to consider that. "So, what'd you  
get mind wiped for?"

"Fighting, I think, er... Master," he said. Then he showed me his  
hands, which were as bruised as his body. "There was a guard with a  
broken arm who seemed to have it in for me, so I suppose I hit him or  
something."

I was impressed. Slave guards don't go down easy, as you might have  
guessed. Still, this was all getting a little too cosy. The boy seemed  
to have forgotten he was just property and it was time to do a little  
reminding.

"All right." I said to him. "I hope you're a fast learner, because I'm  
only gonna say this once. I don't care who you were, or who you think  
you were, right now I own you. Rules are simple. Do what I say, and do  
it right away. No-back answering. No questioning my orders. And under  
no circumstances whatsoever are you to attempt to escape. It would be  
futile, and the consequences for you would be terrible."

He looked pretty mutinous. "What will you do to me?"

"I could do anything I wanted, boy, and no-one would give a damn. You  
know what happens to slaves who harm their owners, don't you?"

He nodded and his eyes turned cold, like space. "I saw it done once at  
Saartors."

Well that was good. At least I didn't have to describe it. They'll  
track 'em down and bring 'em back, you know, escaped and murdering  
slaves, whoever owns them. The Slave Guilds, I mean. Its not in their  
interests to let slaves think they can ever, ever get away with it. And  
it can take up to three days to die on the wheel.

"See this?" I said to him, holding up the remote again. "Well, I've  
been fiddling. It's now set to go off if you get more than a standard  
mile from it. And in case you have any ideas of taking the remote and  
running with it, I've keyed it to blow unless a code is entered every 5  
hours. And only I know the code."

I can be pretty devious when I want to be. He looked a bit nervous at  
that, although he covered it quickly. Waking up every 5 hours isn't a  
problem for me, as I've been pulling 5 hour shifts since I followed my  
Pappy into space, but he wasn't to know that. And if he killed me and  
ran, 5 hours wasn't long enough to get anywhere.

He stood there looking at me. Just looking. Then he licked his lips  
and rubbed his hands against his thighs. Sweaty palms, I expect. I  
thought it was funny. He was still wondering when I was going to releive  
him of his highly-dubious virginity.

Well, I let him sweat for a minute or so before I handed him a pair of  
old overalls. They were probably Jameel's once, because they were too  
small for me, and a bit grubby, but I must have kept them around to use  
as rags or something. I think that was why I still had them. Anyway,  
they nearly fit him.

I got him to shift some half-mended equipment off the co-pilots chair  
and sit there while I went through pre-flight. Didn't take long, and he  
sat there and watched, once pointing to some light that was flashing  
when it shouldn't be.

"Your laundry's done," he said cheekily. I hit the console, and the  
light stopped blinking, but it was clear the kid knew ships. Good.

It took about an hour to pull out of Blevvins Port, and the boy sat  
there silently throughout. Space. I love it. I love it when we  
finally clear orbit, escape the gravity that drags us down, and we're  
free. I looked over at the boy, and guess what? He'd fallen asleep.

He must have been exhausted. I mean, he wasn't faking it or anything.  
He was out like a light.

I was sobering up by this point, and beginning to think I might have  
made a big mistake. I was going to have to feed and clothe this kid,  
train him to serve me and probably teach him nearly everything he needed  
to know. Yeah, I was in a bit of a spot, all right. But, it's funny,  
as I looked down at him tucked up there in Jameel's chair, wearing  
Jameel's clothes, I began to wonder if I'd got myself a bargain.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Thanks to Smitty and Hildegarde for quick beta.

So, where was I? Oh yeah. Heading home, the proud new owner of a  
pleasure slave with an attitude. So when's the interesting bit, you  
ask? Well, it's coming.

Ok. So the kid was awake and looking a bit perkier by the time we  
arrived on Verduine. He knew how to handle the cargo haulers and  
between us we got the job done pretty damned quick, although I wasn't  
stupid enough to leave him unsupervised. Still, I was pretty pleased  
with the way things were going, even though I knew the real test was  
going to come later, when I got him home.

At that time, I had this little place in Varlun Port City, close to the  
spacedock, and when we finished I took him there. He stalked in warily,  
as if checking the place for bugs, and then proceeded to inspect every  
corner. I half expected him to mark his territory. Damned kid.

"Do you have a name, then?" I asked him. There was nothing on his papers  
but the serial number of the mini-bomb and Saartor's mark.

He shrugged. "They just called me 'boy'," he said. So 'Boy' it was.

Well, it was too early for bed, by local time. Time to relax a little  
and think about how I was going to deal with this kid. I mean, I'd  
never owned another sentient before. If I'd had fantasies about  
pleasure slaves it had usually been about me showing up at Lo Masri's  
with a pair of matched Twi'leks on my arm and flaunting my new found  
wealth. Or perhaps some willing little hussy keen to do my bidding, in  
bed or out of it. I'd never imagined some wary and untamed youth,  
nearly as tall as I was, and clearly reluctant.

I got him to fetch me a drink and then set him to work cleaning up and  
preparing a meal. He made some muttered comment about hoping I hadn't  
bought him for his cooking but he bowed and started without much fuss.

I watched him for a bit. He was quiet and pretty efficient, although he  
kept stopping and looking confused, before grimacing and continuing. I  
figured he'd learn eventually. I wondered idly about having him clean  
in the nude. I could admire the rather nice hip-swaying way he walked,  
watch the ripples of his belly as he moved, and then oh so accidentally  
drop things and make him bend over to pick them up... The Old Man was  
twitching again at the thought but I decided to let it go for the  
moment.

I really found it quite soothing to have the kid pottering around in the  
background. I turned on the holo-net, trying to find the next job.  
Spending most of my spare cash on the boy, useful as he might turn out  
to be, meant that I was going to have to find a nice little earner a bit  
quicker than I'd intended. I was just tossing up between taking  
stim-sticks to Krispituar Moon or trying to catch another Kessel spice  
run when there was an almighty crash behind me. I sprang up to see the  
boy staring aghast at the splattered ruins of a cooking pot.

"I'm sorry, Master," he gasped, far more distressed than a simple busted  
pot would warrant. He plummeted to his knees and started trying to  
scrape the shattered pieces together with his bare hands. "I was  
just... I don't know! There's something missing!" He was clearly angry  
now and I could see him trying to still the trembling of his hands. "I'm  
doing something, and then as soon as I try to think about what it is I'm  
doing it just... slips away! I don't know anything!"

I walked to the wall-com and hit the button for the auto-vac. It  
scuttered over and began to shift the stinking mess. He watched it,  
glowering.

"Boy," I said. "Look at me."

He looked up, the frown fading into apprehension. Ordinarily, I  
wouldn't mind having him on his knees in front of me but yeah, it got to  
me, the misery in his eyes.

"Look, kid," I told him. "It's just the mind-wipe. Things aren't going  
to make much sense for a bit, but you'll soon re-learn what you need to  
know. You'll adapt."

He didn't look much re-assured.

"What if I don't?" his voice was almost a whisper.

Don't tell anyone I'm such a softie but I felt for him, really I did.  
So I told him.

"Your memories aren't gone, Boy. They're just locked away where you  
can't consciously get at them. A mind wipe doesn't work by erasing  
everything that you know. Even if they could do that, it would leave  
you a mindless idiot and completely useless as a slave.

"You'll soon find there are things that you already subconsciously know  
how to do, and there'll be other things that you'll have to learn from  
scratch. Like I said, you'll adapt. Don't sweat it."

He seemed to consider this a moment. "If my memories are locked away  
somehow, does that mean that somewhere there is a key that will...  
unlock them?"

I sighed at that. "No kid. Don't even think about it. Whatever your  
life was before, and I'm damned certain you were no-one's property, it's  
gone just as surely as those memories and hankering after it isn't going  
to bring it back. It's over. Get used to it."

"But if I find out what I'm familiar with then maybe I can work out  
who..."

"I said no!" I grabbed him by the front of the jumpsuit and hauled him  
up so I could yell in his face. "Stupid kid! I don't care who you were!  
I don't wanna know! And it's what *I* want that matters around here!" I  
dropped him, and he hit the floor with a thud. "And if you don't start  
calling me 'Master' I'm going to put you in a pain collar."

His jaw set, and I could see from the look of determination that he had  
made up his mind about something or other. "Yes, Master."

I let it go. If he wanted to pluck at his past well that was his  
business. It didn't matter. Whoever he was, he was mine now, and I was  
going to keep him.

The meal was a write off, so I pulled out some nutri-bars from the stock  
of ship's spares I kept on hand, and we ate in silence. A couple more  
drinks took the last edge off my hunger.

Afterwards, I had him make up a pallet in what had been a storage room.  
It was small and plain but it would do for a slave. Not that I expected  
him to be spending a lot of time there, when he would be warming my bed;  
the extra huge bed I had him put silk sheets on. He looked at me funny  
then, twisting his mouth as if he wanted to say something but in the end  
he said nothing. I left him to it, grabbed another drink and went back  
to the holo-net.

I was quite absorbed, and he was so quiet, I didn't even notice he  
wasn't there for a few minutes. I had a scare, I tell you. Thought the  
boy might have done a runner already. I soon found him on the balcony  
looking out at the setting sun. He turned towards me looking almost  
friendly for a change, but his face fell when he realized it was me. I  
felt a bit annoyed. Who did he think it was going to be?

"So, what you think of it, Boy?" I thought he wasn't going to answer me  
at first,

"It's beautiful, Master," he said finally. "I love to watch the sunset."

He must have been talking about his previous life, as I doubt he'd have  
seen much outside of Saartor's slave pens since the mind-wipe. And then  
he added "And the settlement is very... picturesque."

Well yeah, it's pretty, with its hills rolling down to the ocean and all  
that tourist holo-ad guff, but no local would describe Varlun as a  
'settlement'. It's as big a city as you're likely to find out in that  
section of the rim.

All right, enough of dillying around, I thought. It was time. I put my  
hand heavily on the boy's shoulder. There was no way he could mistake  
my meaning.

He turned slowly towards me, his jaw clenching and his expression just  
beginning to glaze over into passive resistance. I got a bit annoyed at  
that. I mean, look at me! I'm not an unattractive guy, am I? What was  
so distasteful for him, the little inner world snob?! I shoved him in  
the back, none too gently, and pushed him towards the bedroom.

TBC 

The Best of the Bargain Part 4  
by Mystique (DarthMystique@...)

Fandom: Star Wars: The Phantom Menace Obi-Wan/OMC (Q/O hints)  
Rating: NC-17  
Archive: BIC and my page  
http://www.ravenswing.com/~mystique  
Disclaimer: (which I forgot before, sorry). Star Wars belongs to  
LucasFilms and various others, and is not mine, no, never mine.  
Notes: Thanks to Raven and Smitty for betaing. Mistakes are mine,  
however.

Warnings: The language is "colourful", there's some technically  
non-consensual m/m sex in here, and... oh yes, drug use. No deaths  
though :)

Story so far: A smuggler has made an impulse purchase at a slave auction  
and brought a young man with a mind wipe and a funny looking braid home  
with him.

*****

He stripped at my command, slowly and reluctantly. I swore that I was  
going to stay in control here, even though part of me just wanted to  
fling him to the floor right then and there and rub his superior little  
nose in it. Another part of me, and you know which part I'm talking  
about, was quite happy to sit back and enjoy the slow peel.

I'd seen him naked before but this was a real turn on -- the long slow  
glide of his hand down the front of the overalls and the glimpse of the  
smooth flesh beneath. Even the sight of his lowered eyelashes, the even  
white teeth biting his lower lip and the embarrassed pink flare of his  
cheeks was exciting.

I was panting slightly myself, the Old Man firming pleasantly as the lad  
skimmed the jumpsuit down to his waist and paused, looking up to me for  
approval. I nodded, too caught up in the moment to speak. I knew the kid  
could feel it too, the rising current of lust and fear and expectation.

His eyes closed for a second as he pushed the overalls down over his  
hips, let them drop to his ankles and stepped out of them.  
Straightening, he allowed his hands to drop to his sides where he stood  
and looked up at me, as snooty as some rich kid. Only the way his fists  
were clenching and unclenching showed how nervous he really was. I took  
my time. It was my first real chance to inspect the merchandise close  
up and personal. Like I said, he was no small thing. I licked my dry  
lips at the sight of his heavy sex with its halo of coppery curls.

I circled him as he stood there, my own living doll. I was pretty amused  
to find he had a little tail in the back of his hair as well as the  
braid by his ear. I'd assumed the long plait was some kind of inner  
world fashion, but maybe this was the new haircut they were giving to  
pleasure slaves. After all, what were these strange locks of hair if  
not a handle and a leash?

Nice. Yes, he was very nicely put together. I couldn't resist touching  
him gently, smoothing a finger down the straight spine and sliding it  
gently over the tight round globes of his backside then round to the  
tight belly I admired so much. I was directly in front of him now, so  
close our bodies were almost touching, but not yet, not yet.

I used the other hand to lift his chin and found myself staring into a  
pair of cool grey eyes. Those eyes held mine, challenging, even as my  
hand moved down to enfold his cock. Such a soft and heavy handful. My  
fingers cupped his balls and I felt them tighten slightly in my grasp.  
He didn't flinch for a moment, just lifted his chin a little and stared  
me down.

Oh, this was going to be sweet. My own bed slave. My very own walking,  
talking sex-toy. Mine.

"All right, Boy." I said to him, stepping back and releasing him. "I'm  
not in the habit of fucking people unwilling, but you're a slave. My  
slave. And consent just doesn't come into it."

I pointed to the bed. "Go on then, kid. Get yourself over there."

I don't know why he balked then. Maybe it was just sinking in what it  
was we were going to do. He just looked at the bed, shaking his head.  
Then he looked at me.

"Master... I can't do this," he said.

I exploded. "By Balla's tits! You're a fucking pleasure slave!" What was  
the boy playing at? I had no idea at that point. "Or rather, right now,  
you're a non-fucking pleasure slave! What use is that to me? Do it!  
Now!"

My wit went right over his head. He lifted his chin and stared at me  
down his nose. Hard to do when your shorter, but he managed it somehow.

"You misunderstand, Master," he said evenly. "I... *can't*."

Well, this was awkward. I could do this one of two ways, I thought. I  
could just hit him, force him, simply take what was mine. I'm no slouch  
with my fists, not in my line of work. And the fear of what could  
happen to him if he harmed me might just keep him from fighting back. I  
didn't have to be gentle with him. He belonged to me and I could do  
what I wanted with him. The thing is -- I just couldn't get my head  
round the idea of holding someone down while I fucked 'em.

So I just sighed. And I put him straight.

"Look, Boy, you have it pretty good here. You could easily have ended  
up with some monster who wanted nothing but to beat you till you  
screamed and then screw you raw. Or you could have ended up in an Outer  
Rim Brothel, chained to a bed and used as fuckmeat by anyone with a bit  
of cash."

He looked a bit pale at this, but it must have occurred to him already.  
Surely he wasn't totally naive. Maybe he was hoping I was a soft touch  
or something. Well, I'm not that soft.

I rubbed it in a bit more. "There's worse. There's places where they  
make you fight, and fight again till you're so beat up you don't know  
space from dirt. Punters pay to watch you fight and bleed, bet on you,  
and some will pay to fuck you afterwards with the blood still dripping  
from your wounds."

"How can people..." he muttered, shaking his head.

"Now, I'm not like that." I cut him off. He seemed smart enough, let  
him work out which way the spanner was turning.

"I ain't going to say that you might not be useful to me in lot of  
ways," I told him. "You look like you could be handy on board ship and  
around the house. But that's not the reason why I shelled out hard cash  
for you."

Oh, he was paying attention now. His jaw hadn't lost that mutinous set,  
but he was looking at me closely.

"I bought you because I wanted you in my bed with your ass in the air  
and legs spread, crying 'Fuck me, Master!'."

I guess it finally got through to him. A look of resignation was  
beginning to creep across his face. Funny, in a strange way I almost  
regretted it.

"So, you understand, that if you can't fulfil those obligations then I'm  
just going to have to sell you and try to get my money back. And after  
that, who knows where the fuck you'll end up, eh?"

Well hooray, at last he understood. He drew himself up until he was once  
again as calm and dignified as when I first saw him, and nodded. "I  
understand... Master."

Shit! Was he going to continue acting as if this was some distasteful  
service? I squashed the brief surge of irritation. I mean... he had it  
easy. But I knew then, even if I hadn't known for sure before, that the  
boy had been a free man not a slave. This was something outside his  
experience, even if he didn't know it himself. I sighed.

"Don't act like this is so hard, Boy. It's not very flattering. Just  
pretend like I'm your lover, someone you want."

He gave me an incredulous grimace. "And what lover would that be,  
Master?"

Uhuh, right. Stupid of me. Then I got inspired and started grubbing  
around in my dresser. Yeah, there it was, an old jar of spice. I'd got  
into it a bit after Jameel's accident, needing something to help me  
forget the little shit, but after a while it just made me feel worse so  
I gave it up. Still had a bit lying around for those occasional binges  
though.

I took a finger-dip and tasted it. It was still okay even if it was a  
bit old. I held the jar out to the kid, who looked at it in  
bafflement. I sighed. Only one day, and his ignorance was already  
getting mighty old. I had to tell him how to wet his finger, dip it into  
the loose powder, and then lick the spice off it.

"It's a bit unsanitary, isn't it, Master?" he said, looking dubiously at  
the little pot like it was poison.

I just cracked up. "Boy... are you worried about sharing a little bit of  
spit with me?"

So, you know what I did? I gave my finger a real good wet, nice and  
slobbery like, got a good fingerful and held it out to him. Ha, ha.  
Well, the look on his face was absolutely fucking priceless. I can't  
describe it. You just had to be there.

I made him lick my finger and smiled at him. I was already buzzing a  
bit, feeling good, so I grabbed him and started licking the stray specks  
of spice off his lips. "C'mon kid," I said finally, "don't think about  
it. This doesn't have to be any harder than it has to be. I'll make it  
good for you. Just... live in the moment."

"Yes, Master," he muttered, very sulky, and lifted his arms to wrap  
around my neck. The spice obviously hadn't kicked in yet, since he was  
about as enthusiastic as the proverbial Hutt's bride.

"Open up for me," I mumbled against his mouth. The kid's lips parted  
with a bit of a moan. I plunged my tongue in, tasting his salt and  
spice. It felt so good. Whores won't let you kiss them but this time I'd  
paid for the whole package. His body was pliant in my arms, moulding  
itself to me as I pulled him even closer, but he wasn't exactly eager  
and he was still limp where it counts.

"Close your eyes," I told him. "Just let go and feel the sensations. Go  
with the flow..."

Boy turned his head away. "Master..." he began, sounding uncertain.  
"I... ah, I'm sorry if I displease you, but I don't really know what to  
do."

Well, that's the trouble with virgins, you see. I don't see the appeal  
in them really, not when you have to teach them everything, and they  
always cost extra as far as I can tell. I suppose some people like that  
kind of thing, the taking of innocence, or perhaps they just want to  
feel that newness beneath them, just like the rich old sods who buy new  
skimmers every year because they like the smell of brand new plas-nylon.

"Just start by undressing me, Boy," I told him. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," he snapped. "There is no fear, only..." He broke off,  
shaking his head.

His hands were steady as he helped me out of my clothes and knelt to  
pull my boots off. There might have been a little trace of fear in his  
eyes when he first slid my pants down and saw the Monster nestled  
between my thighs. Well, maybe. I like to think there was.

I pulled him up by that handy braid and then pushed him until his legs  
hit the bed behind him. A quick shove and he fell backwards onto the  
sheets. I started pulling his arms into place above his head and gently  
spreading his legs until he was arranged to my satisfaction, all four  
limbs pointing to the corners of the bed.

The Boy was beautiful. Just perfect, lying there splayed for me and  
looking up at me with those big spice-dark eyes. Oh this was definitely  
one of my better buys. I leant over and tried to kiss the frown off his  
face before reaching out and closing his eyelids.

"Don't open your eyes, Boy. You're not allowed to move," I whispered.  
"You lie still, sweet cheeks, and I'll show you how much fun this can  
be. Just let the spice work, let the sensations flow through you..."

A slow and steady seduction, I thought, and he'd be putty in my hands.  
You know I usually like it a bit more rough and ready, but there's a  
time and place for gentleness. Show them the reward before you show  
them the whip.

I started with his hand, my nail scratching little circles on the palm.  
His fingers twitched, but he didn't move. Then I worked my way up,  
watching as my spider light touches raised goose bumps along his arm. I  
knew that with his eyes closed he could only anticipate by feel where I  
would touch him next. I began to tease his body, noting which feathery  
caresses made him squirm a little more, how his breath caught when I  
traced a line along his side with a fingernail, and how his nipples  
hardened when I licked them and then blew on them.

Boy was pressing into my touch now, biting down gently on his lower lip  
in his concentration. The way he was responding was just... so lovely,  
making me so fucking hard. I hadn't thought it would be this easy.

I kept him guessing, knowing that his vulnerable position would make him  
nervous and that the spice was intensifying his every sensation.  
Sometimes I'd work quickly, moving from one sensitive patch of skin to  
another so he could never be certain where the next touch would be  
coming. At other times I'd sit back on my heels just to watch him,  
waiting as moment stretched out and his breathing became ragged uneven  
gasps of mingled dread and desire.

I traced my fingers over his bruises, sometimes soothing them,  
occasionally pressing down on the tender skin to get him whimpering. It  
pissed me off that someone had dared to mark the merchandise. Well from  
then on, I swore, he'd wear no man's bruises but mine.

The spice was going to my own head too. I felt like I was playing some  
complicated stringed instrument, moving my hands gently over the keys,  
plucking at his body and and bringing forth music. Each touch was  
rewarded with a moan or a gasp or a twitch. A symphony of passion.  
Okay, that sounds so corny but you know what its like when you're  
spiced.

I knelt between his spread legs, licking up his inner thighs and tasting  
the sweat there. The spice was definitely working by now, the hard  
evidence inches from my face. His hips were lifting slightly from the  
bed, pumping the air as I did a little tongue-dance upwards towards his  
groin. I purposely ignored the straining flesh in front of me,  
chuckling to myself, pleased to see he was enjoying it. I moved up  
again to take one of those pink nipples between my fingers. I squeezed,  
pressing harder and harder until he gasped and I smoothed away the hurt  
with my lips. Then I did the same with the other. When I looked up his  
eyes were open, watching me.

"You're... its excruciating!" he said.

"Mine," I said, grinning and sitting back on my heels. "You're all mine.  
And now, my sweet Boy, you have to roll over because I'm going to claim  
you."

Slug-a-beasts move faster than Boy did, but eventually he was lying on  
his belly, panting in nervousness, with me once more kneeling between  
his splayed legs. I took my sweet time again, watching his reaction as  
I caressed those sweet round cheeks, breathed on the back of his knees,  
scraped my nails through the small hairs of his thighs. It's an art  
form, you know. A sharp slap across his rump startled him and he  
flinched away, pushing his trapped erection into the bed.

"Please," he moaned, "before I lose my nerve."

Well, it wasn't up to him, and I even thought about dragging it out a  
bit longer, just to teach the little brat a lesson, but I was fair  
bursting myself. I wanted inside him, desperately. I pulled him up so he  
was on his knees and got out my trusty tube o' lube.

There's something religious about lubing up a lover for the first time.  
Something ceremonial, don't you think? I always think so anyway. Ok,  
so maybe you don't always follow the script, maybe you want it hard and  
fast and you skip a few steps, but... when you want it to mean something  
you try and do it right. I was careful, adding each finger slowly,  
feeling the tension and the thrill of anticipation building in my belly  
with each ritual step.

I hope the kid could feel it too, really I do, the care I took over  
him. But he just had his face buried in the pillow and the only sounds  
that came out of him were muffled moans. I'm sure he liked it though.

Finally, when I just couldn't take it any more, I pulled him up closer  
to me and pushed his knees further apart with my own. He was trembling  
and tense but he wasn't going to get any readier. A dollop of lube for  
me and then I was ready too, carefully positioned at the puckered  
entrance to his body. My knees were beginning to shake as I finally  
pushed in.

He howled like a fucking wookiee, and I was only in a tiny bit.

"No, no, wait please master..." he was almost sobbing. "...hurts, oh it  
hurts... oh no, no."

I said to him, "Shhhhh... relax," and held his hips tight to stop him  
crawling away from me. It was so hard to hold back, not to just ram in  
and take what was mine, but I didn't want to hurt him. Well, no more  
than necessary.

I gave him a few seconds to get over it. He'd already taken the hard  
part and now it was just a question of slowly pushing forward until I  
was finally deep inside of him. It felt like coming home.

He froze beneath me, trembling slightly and his back was as stiff as  
steel. He didn't try to pull away though, and if he cried out it was  
mostly buried in the pillow. I gave him a few moments to get relaxed  
again before I started moving.

He was as tight as a Hutt's wallet, and I told him so.

The spice helped, I guess. He'd gone limp, but I reached around and gave  
him a helping hand and soon he was firming nicely in my grasp. I moved  
within him, slick and steady, building the heat. I soon had him  
writhing under me, pushing himself back onto me, moving with me. He  
couldn't help it really.

Beads of sweat were dripping onto his smooth back as I concentrated on  
driving him wild, flying us both home.  
Oh, it was so good, so fucking good. He was murmuring something, a name  
I thought, it was too muffled to hear. I pulled him up, wanting to hear  
him moaning in pleasure, wanting to hear him wail, wanting to hear him  
screaming as he came.

He was gasping in little hiccoughing sobs, his breath hitching with each  
hard thrust inside him. I could hear what he was saying now. It was  
"mah...mah...Master! My... Master!"

I think I was in love! He was oh so beautiful, so fucking sweet and he  
wanted it, wanted me... I pulled him close and held him, shifting his  
weight until I was certain I was hitting him in just the right spot.  
Just a little further, just a little harder and then he was spurting out  
all over the sheets with a wail. "Master! Oh! Master!"

It tipped me right over and I was howling home so hard it felt like my  
very brain was pulsing out of me through my cock. I emptied myself  
completely inside him, leaving me nothing but the quivering shell of a  
man slowly collapsing to the bed.

I barely had the energy to roll off him as he wriggled out from under me  
and headed to the fresher. I managed to mumble, "Mind you come back  
here when you're done," before the door closed behind him. But I was  
wrung out, and the last thing I remember was listening to the hissing of  
the water in the shower going on and on.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The language is "colourful", there's some technically  
>  non-consensual m/m sex in here, and... oh yes, drug use. No deaths  
>  though :)
> 
> Story so far: A smuggler has made an impulse purchase at a slave auction  
>  and brought a young man with a mind wipe and a funny looking braid home  
>  with him.

He stripped at my command, slowly and reluctantly. I swore that I was  
going to stay in control here, even though part of me just wanted to  
fling him to the floor right then and there and rub his superior little  
nose in it. Another part of me, and you know which part I'm talking  
about, was quite happy to sit back and enjoy the slow peel.

I'd seen him naked before but this was a real turn on -- the long slow  
glide of his hand down the front of the overalls and the glimpse of the  
smooth flesh beneath. Even the sight of his lowered eyelashes, the even  
white teeth biting his lower lip and the embarrassed pink flare of his  
cheeks was exciting.

I was panting slightly myself, the Old Man firming pleasantly as the lad  
skimmed the jumpsuit down to his waist and paused, looking up to me for  
approval. I nodded, too caught up in the moment to speak. I knew the kid  
could feel it too, the rising current of lust and fear and expectation.

His eyes closed for a second as he pushed the overalls down over his  
hips, let them drop to his ankles and stepped out of them.  
Straightening, he allowed his hands to drop to his sides where he stood  
and looked up at me, as snooty as some rich kid. Only the way his fists  
were clenching and unclenching showed how nervous he really was. I took  
my time. It was my first real chance to inspect the merchandise close  
up and personal. Like I said, he was no small thing. I licked my dry  
lips at the sight of his heavy sex with its halo of coppery curls.

I circled him as he stood there, my own living doll. I was pretty amused  
to find he had a little tail in the back of his hair as well as the  
braid by his ear. I'd assumed the long plait was some kind of inner  
world fashion, but maybe this was the new haircut they were giving to  
pleasure slaves. After all, what were these strange locks of hair if  
not a handle and a leash?

Nice. Yes, he was very nicely put together. I couldn't resist touching  
him gently, smoothing a finger down the straight spine and sliding it  
gently over the tight round globes of his backside then round to the  
tight belly I admired so much. I was directly in front of him now, so  
close our bodies were almost touching, but not yet, not yet.

I used the other hand to lift his chin and found myself staring into a  
pair of cool grey eyes. Those eyes held mine, challenging, even as my  
hand moved down to enfold his cock. Such a soft and heavy handful. My  
fingers cupped his balls and I felt them tighten slightly in my grasp.  
He didn't flinch for a moment, just lifted his chin a little and stared  
me down.

Oh, this was going to be sweet. My own bed slave. My very own walking,  
talking sex-toy. Mine.

"All right, Boy." I said to him, stepping back and releasing him. "I'm  
not in the habit of fucking people unwilling, but you're a slave. My  
slave. And consent just doesn't come into it."

I pointed to the bed. "Go on then, kid. Get yourself over there."

I don't know why he balked then. Maybe it was just sinking in what it  
was we were going to do. He just looked at the bed, shaking his head.  
Then he looked at me.

"Master... I can't do this," he said.

I exploded. "By Balla's tits! You're a fucking pleasure slave!" What was  
the boy playing at? I had no idea at that point. "Or rather, right now,  
you're a non-fucking pleasure slave! What use is that to me? Do it!  
Now!"

My wit went right over his head. He lifted his chin and stared at me  
down his nose. Hard to do when your shorter, but he managed it somehow.

"You misunderstand, Master," he said evenly. "I... *can't*."

Well, this was awkward. I could do this one of two ways, I thought. I  
could just hit him, force him, simply take what was mine. I'm no slouch  
with my fists, not in my line of work. And the fear of what could  
happen to him if he harmed me might just keep him from fighting back. I  
didn't have to be gentle with him. He belonged to me and I could do  
what I wanted with him. The thing is -- I just couldn't get my head  
round the idea of holding someone down while I fucked 'em.

So I just sighed. And I put him straight.

"Look, Boy, you have it pretty good here. You could easily have ended  
up with some monster who wanted nothing but to beat you till you  
screamed and then screw you raw. Or you could have ended up in an Outer  
Rim Brothel, chained to a bed and used as fuckmeat by anyone with a bit  
of cash."

He looked a bit pale at this, but it must have occurred to him already.  
Surely he wasn't totally naive. Maybe he was hoping I was a soft touch  
or something. Well, I'm not that soft.

I rubbed it in a bit more. "There's worse. There's places where they  
make you fight, and fight again till you're so beat up you don't know  
space from dirt. Punters pay to watch you fight and bleed, bet on you,  
and some will pay to fuck you afterwards with the blood still dripping  
from your wounds."

"How can people..." he muttered, shaking his head.

"Now, I'm not like that." I cut him off. He seemed smart enough, let  
him work out which way the spanner was turning.

"I ain't going to say that you might not be useful to me in lot of  
ways," I told him. "You look like you could be handy on board ship and  
around the house. But that's not the reason why I shelled out hard cash  
for you."

Oh, he was paying attention now. His jaw hadn't lost that mutinous set,  
but he was looking at me closely.

"I bought you because I wanted you in my bed with your ass in the air  
and legs spread, crying 'Fuck me, Master!'."

I guess it finally got through to him. A look of resignation was  
beginning to creep across his face. Funny, in a strange way I almost  
regretted it.

"So, you understand, that if you can't fulfil those obligations then I'm  
just going to have to sell you and try to get my money back. And after  
that, who knows where the fuck you'll end up, eh?"

Well hooray, at last he understood. He drew himself up until he was once  
again as calm and dignified as when I first saw him, and nodded. "I  
understand... Master."

Shit! Was he going to continue acting as if this was some distasteful  
service? I squashed the brief surge of irritation. I mean... he had it  
easy. But I knew then, even if I hadn't known for sure before, that the  
boy had been a free man not a slave. This was something outside his  
experience, even if he didn't know it himself. I sighed.

"Don't act like this is so hard, Boy. It's not very flattering. Just  
pretend like I'm your lover, someone you want."

He gave me an incredulous grimace. "And what lover would that be,  
Master?"

Uhuh, right. Stupid of me. Then I got inspired and started grubbing  
around in my dresser. Yeah, there it was, an old jar of spice. I'd got  
into it a bit after Jameel's accident, needing something to help me  
forget the little shit, but after a while it just made me feel worse so  
I gave it up. Still had a bit lying around for those occasional binges  
though.

I took a finger-dip and tasted it. It was still okay even if it was a  
bit old. I held the jar out to the kid, who looked at it in  
bafflement. I sighed. Only one day, and his ignorance was already  
getting mighty old. I had to tell him how to wet his finger, dip it into  
the loose powder, and then lick the spice off it.

"It's a bit unsanitary, isn't it, Master?" he said, looking dubiously at  
the little pot like it was poison.

I just cracked up. "Boy... are you worried about sharing a little bit of  
spit with me?"

So, you know what I did? I gave my finger a real good wet, nice and  
slobbery like, got a good fingerful and held it out to him. Ha, ha.  
Well, the look on his face was absolutely fucking priceless. I can't  
describe it. You just had to be there.

I made him lick my finger and smiled at him. I was already buzzing a  
bit, feeling good, so I grabbed him and started licking the stray specks  
of spice off his lips. "C'mon kid," I said finally, "don't think about  
it. This doesn't have to be any harder than it has to be. I'll make it  
good for you. Just... live in the moment."

"Yes, Master," he muttered, very sulky, and lifted his arms to wrap  
around my neck. The spice obviously hadn't kicked in yet, since he was  
about as enthusiastic as the proverbial Hutt's bride.

"Open up for me," I mumbled against his mouth. The kid's lips parted  
with a bit of a moan. I plunged my tongue in, tasting his salt and  
spice. It felt so good. Whores won't let you kiss them but this time I'd  
paid for the whole package. His body was pliant in my arms, moulding  
itself to me as I pulled him even closer, but he wasn't exactly eager  
and he was still limp where it counts.

"Close your eyes," I told him. "Just let go and feel the sensations. Go  
with the flow..."

Boy turned his head away. "Master..." he began, sounding uncertain.  
"I... ah, I'm sorry if I displease you, but I don't really know what to  
do."

Well, that's the trouble with virgins, you see. I don't see the appeal  
in them really, not when you have to teach them everything, and they  
always cost extra as far as I can tell. I suppose some people like that  
kind of thing, the taking of innocence, or perhaps they just want to  
feel that newness beneath them, just like the rich old sods who buy new  
skimmers every year because they like the smell of brand new plas-nylon.

"Just start by undressing me, Boy," I told him. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," he snapped. "There is no fear, only..." He broke off,  
shaking his head.

His hands were steady as he helped me out of my clothes and knelt to  
pull my boots off. There might have been a little trace of fear in his  
eyes when he first slid my pants down and saw the Monster nestled  
between my thighs. Well, maybe. I like to think there was.

I pulled him up by that handy braid and then pushed him until his legs  
hit the bed behind him. A quick shove and he fell backwards onto the  
sheets. I started pulling his arms into place above his head and gently  
spreading his legs until he was arranged to my satisfaction, all four  
limbs pointing to the corners of the bed.

The Boy was beautiful. Just perfect, lying there splayed for me and  
looking up at me with those big spice-dark eyes. Oh this was definitely  
one of my better buys. I leant over and tried to kiss the frown off his  
face before reaching out and closing his eyelids.

"Don't open your eyes, Boy. You're not allowed to move," I whispered.  
"You lie still, sweet cheeks, and I'll show you how much fun this can  
be. Just let the spice work, let the sensations flow through you..."

A slow and steady seduction, I thought, and he'd be putty in my hands.  
You know I usually like it a bit more rough and ready, but there's a  
time and place for gentleness. Show them the reward before you show  
them the whip.

I started with his hand, my nail scratching little circles on the palm.  
His fingers twitched, but he didn't move. Then I worked my way up,  
watching as my spider light touches raised goose bumps along his arm. I  
knew that with his eyes closed he could only anticipate by feel where I  
would touch him next. I began to tease his body, noting which feathery  
caresses made him squirm a little more, how his breath caught when I  
traced a line along his side with a fingernail, and how his nipples  
hardened when I licked them and then blew on them.

Boy was pressing into my touch now, biting down gently on his lower lip  
in his concentration. The way he was responding was just... so lovely,  
making me so fucking hard. I hadn't thought it would be this easy.

I kept him guessing, knowing that his vulnerable position would make him  
nervous and that the spice was intensifying his every sensation.  
Sometimes I'd work quickly, moving from one sensitive patch of skin to  
another so he could never be certain where the next touch would be  
coming. At other times I'd sit back on my heels just to watch him,  
waiting as moment stretched out and his breathing became ragged uneven  
gasps of mingled dread and desire.

I traced my fingers over his bruises, sometimes soothing them,  
occasionally pressing down on the tender skin to get him whimpering. It  
pissed me off that someone had dared to mark the merchandise. Well from  
then on, I swore, he'd wear no man's bruises but mine.

The spice was going to my own head too. I felt like I was playing some  
complicated stringed instrument, moving my hands gently over the keys,  
plucking at his body and and bringing forth music. Each touch was  
rewarded with a moan or a gasp or a twitch. A symphony of passion.  
Okay, that sounds so corny but you know what its like when you're  
spiced.

I knelt between his spread legs, licking up his inner thighs and tasting  
the sweat there. The spice was definitely working by now, the hard  
evidence inches from my face. His hips were lifting slightly from the  
bed, pumping the air as I did a little tongue-dance upwards towards his  
groin. I purposely ignored the straining flesh in front of me,  
chuckling to myself, pleased to see he was enjoying it. I moved up  
again to take one of those pink nipples between my fingers. I squeezed,  
pressing harder and harder until he gasped and I smoothed away the hurt  
with my lips. Then I did the same with the other. When I looked up his  
eyes were open, watching me.

"You're... its excruciating!" he said.

"Mine," I said, grinning and sitting back on my heels. "You're all mine.  
And now, my sweet Boy, you have to roll over because I'm going to claim  
you."

Slug-a-beasts move faster than Boy did, but eventually he was lying on  
his belly, panting in nervousness, with me once more kneeling between  
his splayed legs. I took my sweet time again, watching his reaction as  
I caressed those sweet round cheeks, breathed on the back of his knees,  
scraped my nails through the small hairs of his thighs. It's an art  
form, you know. A sharp slap across his rump startled him and he  
flinched away, pushing his trapped erection into the bed.

"Please," he moaned, "before I lose my nerve."

Well, it wasn't up to him, and I even thought about dragging it out a  
bit longer, just to teach the little brat a lesson, but I was fair  
bursting myself. I wanted inside him, desperately. I pulled him up so he  
was on his knees and got out my trusty tube o' lube.

There's something religious about lubing up a lover for the first time.  
Something ceremonial, don't you think? I always think so anyway. Ok,  
so maybe you don't always follow the script, maybe you want it hard and  
fast and you skip a few steps, but... when you want it to mean something  
you try and do it right. I was careful, adding each finger slowly,  
feeling the tension and the thrill of anticipation building in my belly  
with each ritual step.

I hope the kid could feel it too, really I do, the care I took over  
him. But he just had his face buried in the pillow and the only sounds  
that came out of him were muffled moans. I'm sure he liked it though.

Finally, when I just couldn't take it any more, I pulled him up closer  
to me and pushed his knees further apart with my own. He was trembling  
and tense but he wasn't going to get any readier. A dollop of lube for  
me and then I was ready too, carefully positioned at the puckered  
entrance to his body. My knees were beginning to shake as I finally  
pushed in.

He howled like a fucking wookiee, and I was only in a tiny bit.

"No, no, wait please master..." he was almost sobbing. "...hurts, oh it  
hurts... oh no, no."

I said to him, "Shhhhh... relax," and held his hips tight to stop him  
crawling away from me. It was so hard to hold back, not to just ram in  
and take what was mine, but I didn't want to hurt him. Well, no more  
than necessary.

I gave him a few seconds to get over it. He'd already taken the hard  
part and now it was just a question of slowly pushing forward until I  
was finally deep inside of him. It felt like coming home.

He froze beneath me, trembling slightly and his back was as stiff as  
steel. He didn't try to pull away though, and if he cried out it was  
mostly buried in the pillow. I gave him a few moments to get relaxed  
again before I started moving.

He was as tight as a Hutt's wallet, and I told him so.

The spice helped, I guess. He'd gone limp, but I reached around and gave  
him a helping hand and soon he was firming nicely in my grasp. I moved  
within him, slick and steady, building the heat. I soon had him  
writhing under me, pushing himself back onto me, moving with me. He  
couldn't help it really.

Beads of sweat were dripping onto his smooth back as I concentrated on  
driving him wild, flying us both home.  
Oh, it was so good, so fucking good. He was murmuring something, a name  
I thought, it was too muffled to hear. I pulled him up, wanting to hear  
him moaning in pleasure, wanting to hear him wail, wanting to hear him  
screaming as he came.

He was gasping in little hiccoughing sobs, his breath hitching with each  
hard thrust inside him. I could hear what he was saying now. It was  
"mah...mah...Master! My... Master!"

I think I was in love! He was oh so beautiful, so fucking sweet and he  
wanted it, wanted me... I pulled him close and held him, shifting his  
weight until I was certain I was hitting him in just the right spot.  
Just a little further, just a little harder and then he was spurting out  
all over the sheets with a wail. "Master! Oh! Master!"

It tipped me right over and I was howling home so hard it felt like my  
very brain was pulsing out of me through my cock. I emptied myself  
completely inside him, leaving me nothing but the quivering shell of a  
man slowly collapsing to the bed.

I barely had the energy to roll off him as he wriggled out from under me  
and headed to the fresher. I managed to mumble, "Mind you come back  
here when you're done," before the door closed behind him. But I was  
wrung out, and the last thing I remember was listening to the hissing of  
the water in the shower going on and on.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Darn these WIPs. Next time I'm waiting till the the story's  
>  finished before I post :D. (Yes, Raven, you told me so.) Part 5 just got  
>  bigger and bigger, until it became parts 5 AND 6. Part 6 tomorrow,  
>  probably. Thanks RavenD and Smitty for looking this over for me.

Well, it was nice to wake up next to a warm body for a change. I was  
comfortable, sleepy and content, but something was nagging at me. Then I  
remembered and scrambled awake.

Fuck! Have you any idea how close I came to waking up next to a corpse?  
I was out of the bed in a flash and bounding into the next room to grab  
the detonator remote. Too fucking close. Then I had to have a shower to  
wash away the cold sweat. All that money was nearly wasted, and the  
kid...

Funny how guilt makes you act. I even thought about bringing him  
breakfast in bed before I realised that was something a man does for his  
lover, not a Master for his slave. I sighed at that. If I was going to  
stay in charge, I was going to have to keep up the 'Master' bit.

Boy was still asleep. He'd crawled in next to me some time in the early  
hours and laid himself carefully along the edge of the bed. I'd been  
half awake and pulled him to me, one hand idly fondling him, but during  
the night he'd wormed his way free again. I guess he just wasn't a  
snuggler.

So he was lying there dead to the world, wearing nothing but a frown,  
his thin plait trailing across the pillow. I admired my sleeping  
property for a few moments and then tipped him out onto the floor. He  
was on his feet and into a defensive fighting stance before he was even  
fully awake.

"Breakfast," I barked at him. "Bring it here. Don't bother to dress."

"Yes, Master," he said sullenly, and I watched his pretty ass as he  
stalked towards the kitchen.

When I'd eaten, and he'd sort of picked at a bit, I set aside the tray  
and lay back in the bed, feeling comfortable and happy. Life was good.  
Life was fucking wonderful. I could see I was making quite a hill in the  
sheet. Actually, it was a mountain. I twitched the sheet back so that  
Mr Organ could have his breakfast too.

"Go on, Boy," I told him. "Get down on that."

He didn't look very happy about the idea. Well, it is a bloody big  
mouthful.

I said to him, very patient, "Look... you can think of it as an  
experiment. See if you remember ever sucking cock before."

"Here," I licked a finger, dipped it in the spice jar and offered it to  
him. His eyes closed briefly and then he leaned forward, parting his  
lips so I could thrust my finger inside. He suckled gently, skimming my  
finger with his tongue, and then swallowing around the digit. My tongue  
went all dry, and I had to use the slick from his mouth to take my own  
dose.

Well, I lay back again and motioned him down. His expression was  
totally unreadable as he lowered his face to my groin and took an  
experimental lick along my shaft. I moaned, and waited for the spice to  
kick in. Yes...

No, he didn't seem to know what he was doing. I had to guide him a  
little, but he picked it up real quick, so maybe he was experienced.  
Maybe he'd just thought about doing it or, more likely, had it done for  
him. Hard to tell. Whatever, by the time he had one hand wrapped around  
my cock and the rest of it in his pretty mouth I was flying on spice and  
sex. I could have fucked his face forever, except he was beginning to  
snuffle and choke a little as I got more enthusiastic about it.

I grabbed hold of that funny braid of his and hauled his head up to look  
me in the eyes. "Up here," I said, and pulled.

He slithered up my body until he was lying on top of me, wiping a hand  
across his face. I could feel he was only half hard, despite the drug,  
but I figured that was only because I'd been getting all the attention.  
OK, time to rectify that, I thought, and I grabbed his hips and started  
grinding against him. He gave this funny little gasp as the friction  
started to have the expected effect on his body, and he dropped his head  
down next to mine, spreading his legs to straddle my body.

I shifted my grip to get a double handful of that firm ass, pulling him  
to me, feeling his muscles bunch and squeeze in response as we rocked  
together. My fingers spread his cheeks apart, probing for the ridged  
flesh that was the entrance to his body. He winced a little as I worked  
one in. He'd need more than that though, so I shifted him aside, reached  
for the lube and handed it to him.

"You know what it's for," I said to him. "Better get some practice."

Well, he squeezed some out onto two shaky fingers and reached round to  
prepare himself. He was doing that lip biting thing again and, apart  
from when he squeezed another glob out, three fingers this time, he kept  
his eyes closed. Finally I couldn't wait any more and pointed to my  
rampaging cock.

"Now, you know what to do, Boy." I said. "Sit on it."

I laid back and those clear, grey eyes pinned me in my place. He lubed  
me up then positioned himself above me and slowly lowered himself down.  
Now I'm no small thing, and he'd gotta be sore from the night before,  
but still, he took it like a man.

When he came, his hands gripping my arms so hard he left marks, he  
called out to me again. "Master!" he cried as he painted my belly. The  
kid just managed to hold on long enough for me to see sparks too, and  
then he collapsed on top of me. I held him close as we both dozed off.

*****

And so we settled into a bit of a routine for a week or so. Until the  
stim-stick job, I didn't have much on apart from a shuttle run or two.  
During the day I used the time to tinker with some of the systems on the  
barge. Boy stood around handing me spanners, sometimes getting in the  
way, but generally keeping himself busy and useful. He had some funny  
notions though, like sitting quietly in the middle of the common room  
after breakfast. He soon gave it up after about the third time I  
tripped over him, finally lost it and yelled his ear off. He didn't  
seem to know why he was doing it anyway.

Another thing; it's lucky we weren't on someplace like Noa Rimor or  
Tattooine, the amount of water the kid seemed to go through. He had  
this obsession with personal hygeine, ducking into the shower at every  
opportunity. Still, he always tasted clean, except when I made him  
sweat.

Then there was the dancing. Most evenings he would clear an area and  
start moving around, sometimes with his eyes closed or with a little  
frown of concentration on his face. Sometimes it would be acrobatic,  
sometimes martial with fast high kicking steps and blocks, but mostly it  
was as if he was performing some kind of ritual. I made him do it naked,  
seeing as how I might as well enjoy it too. It was interesting to watch  
him fumbling for the right steps, although it sometimes made me  
uncomfortable to see that he hadn't taken my advice. He was still  
trying to remember *before*.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked him once, annoyed at his persistence.

"I can feel... I can feel it singing," he said, and the funny thing is,  
I could almost understand what he meant. As I watched him he seemed to  
move with some unseen, unheard rhythm, yet I could *feel* it too. A  
couple of times, out of the corner of my eye, it almost seemed as if he  
was glowing. It must just have been a trick of the light as when I  
turned, startled, there was just Boy moving gracefully through the steps  
he'd been working on.

He hardly ever used the little closet room I gave him. I quickly got  
used to waking up next to that stiff back and using my hands or lips to  
gradually make him melt into the shape I wanted. In the end he slept in  
my bed every night and only ever used his own little space to keep his  
clothes in.

Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you about the clothes and stuff. Of course,  
he'd come with nothing but a pair of see-through pants and a bit of  
glitter. Owners are expected to provide everything else. All he had,  
apart from the pants, was Jameel's old rags. I'd left all of Jameel's  
other stuff on Aud Nuevo, or burned it, and nothing of mine fit. It was  
just two sizes too big on him, made him look like a child. That was no  
good. It wouldn't do to have my partner looking like easy prey for the  
roughs and the cons. Not in this line of business, anyway. So, we went  
shopping.

Shopping was fun. Yeah, you heard me right. Shopping was fun. Well, it  
was certainly the most laughs I've ever got out of a shopping trip.  
Minna, my little sis, had a doll she used to dress up, and I never saw  
the attraction in it until I had one of my own.

I had to get him shoes first of all, as he'd been going barefoot. Shoes  
for portside and sturdy leather boots for the ship as you know how cold  
decking gets in space.

We had to get new clothes too. First off I got him a couple of standard  
outfits, nothing fancy, just for day to day wear. Then I decided to have  
a bit of fun. The choice was staggering. There were satin pants, little  
druba-hide loincloths, skimpy silken tunics and velvet jackets, all  
stuff I'd never be seen dead in myself, but I just knew it was going to  
look fantastic on my nubile little Boy. Show all his attributes to best  
advantage. Oh, I had all these fond fantasies about walking into  
Barapa's or somewhere, Boy at my heels in a short gold tunic and  
sandals, and all those old farts just creaming in envy that I'd got such  
a hot little handful at my beck and call.

I picked out a few outfits before I found something that made me really  
drool. It was a pair of strappy leather pants, all holes and buckles  
with very little left to the imagination, and a very thin silk shirt  
that would reveal as much as it covered.

"How would you like these, Boy?" I said, holding them up and wiggling my  
eyebrows suggestively.

"Only if you want me to look like a whore," he snapped.

I laughed, and bought them anyway. He wore them home and we never made  
it to the bedroom. I took him on the living room floor, leather pants  
wrapped around his ankles. Shame about the shirt.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Thank you so much to Mac and RavenD for helping with this bit.  
>  This part's for Apprentice Pervert Hildegarde, who will know why.

A slave. I owned a slave. And a pleasure slave at that. I'd never really  
thought about it before. Well, I'd thought about fucking one, sometimes  
even two, but never really thought about what it would be like to  
actually *own* one.

They don't come with a manual either, that's the problem. I was just  
allowed to walk out of the auction house with the kid in tow. No one  
knew who I was or where I lived. There was no law to say I couldn't beat  
him or starve him or even torture him to death if I wanted to. Not that  
I would, but I could have, you know?

And what was I going to do with a bed slave? They're rich folk's toys;  
expensive, frivolous, and only good for one thing, apparently.

Not so with this kid. He was quite a treasure really. He was quiet and  
neat, looked after all my physical needs, and even if he did have a few  
strange notions, like the dancing and the not liking meat very much,  
they didn't really get in the way of my enjoyment of him.

It was weird, though, I'd been alone for years, and not exactly lonely.  
Now I had some nearly grown young man rattling round the place, taking  
up space and just being *there* all the time, day and night. Suddenly he  
was looking after everything for me, and I was totally responsible for  
his well being. I could never forget he was there, and sometimes his  
constant presence grated on my nerves. But there was no-where else for  
him to go.

Still, rich man's toy or not, he had to make himself useful. I'm not  
rolling in it myself. I had to get back to work, and I had to make sure  
there was a place for Boy at my side. I wanted him to be a partner, not  
a pet.

First thing I did was to make sure he looked the part. Some standard  
clothes, and there he was, plain leggings, plain shirt and a vest to  
keep tools in, your typical young spacer. I'd even thought about taking  
off his long plait, but when I'd come near him with the snips he'd  
backed away and begged me so prettily that I didn't have the heart to  
cut it. The picture still wasn't quite right though, and it took me a  
few moments to realize what it was. There was no blaster strapped to  
his thigh.

Well, as you know, having your own weapon is vital in my business.  
Appearances are very important. If people think they can push you  
around, intimidate you, then they will certainly try. Not to mention the  
times when you actually have to use the damned things.

I tossed around the idea of giving Boy a weapon. Pretty kid like him  
would need something to give the flesh fanciers pause, even if they'd  
have to go through me to get to him. We'd worked out a bit together, and  
I tried to figure out if he could handle himself or not. The kid was  
handy enough unarmed, although strangely reluctant to attack unless  
under threat. He was also sharp and deadly with a knife, and by about  
the third time a sparring bout ended with the blunted tip of the  
practice blade pressed to my ribs and a strangely feral grin lighting  
his face, I'd made a strong mental note to watch him more carefully in  
the kitchen.

I thought about it, sure, but I just knew that I wouldn't feel  
comfortable with him standing anywhere near me holding a blaster. Not  
yet anyway. Even worse, on a number of worlds there's rules about slaves  
carrying arms, and the penalties can be summary execution. Even if I  
gave him a fake weapon just to look the part, there's them that would  
shoot first and ask questions later.

Still, it was a bit of a relief to be headed back into space. The  
holiday on Verduine had been nice, but I was itchy for the hum of the  
engines beneath my feet and the chill of recycled air. Even Boy seemed  
moderately cheerful, saying it was about time we went on a mission. He  
gave me a quick cheeky smile as we shouldered our trav-bags and stepped  
onto the ramp, him just one step behind me and to the left. I was  
content. It was just like old times.

First real job we did was a there-and-back to Krispituar Moon. I chose  
that one as it sounded somehow better than the other one to Kessel. Boy  
agreed, saying he'd never heard of Kessel, but he had a 'bad feeling'  
about it. Just as well really, as old Moreney took the job instead and  
ended up cooling his heels in a Corellian prison for nearly two  
standard.

It took us a double handful of shifts to get there. It's odd but the  
bunk that had seemed so big and empty after... well, during the previous  
few years, suddenly seemed tiny when it came to sharing it with all  
those legs and arms. When it was time for sleep-shift, I got Boy to  
give me a quickie and then made him sleep in another bunk. I thought  
he'd appreciate it too, except he woke up mid-shift in the grip of some  
dream.

"Master!" he was calling. "I'm lost, please don't leave me, Master!"

I dropped to the side of his bunk, and shook him by the shoulder. He  
blinked like a night bird, still half asleep.

"So lost..."

"S'OK, kid," I said. "I'm here."

He nodded, and touched my hand like he was grateful. Then he sighed,  
turned his face back to the wall and went to sleep again.

Krispituar Moon is a hole of a place, just one huge mine orbiting a gas  
giant. No wonder they go through so many stim sticks there, its so  
bloody boring. I took the opportunity to teach Boy all about the old  
girl's systems and operations. I even let him fly, a swooping, gliding  
joy-ride through the outer reaches of Krispit. Boy was a fair pilot too,  
once he stopped *trying* to remember and just let it all come back to  
him. He really seemed to enjoy it, and I liked seeing the spark in his  
eyes as he skimmed the giant planet's outer edges before heading back  
past the Moon, round the primary and out to where we could make the  
jump.

I still had to programme the co-ords for the jump. Didn't want him  
fucking up with that, nosirree. When we got up to speed I nodded to  
him, and he reached over to hit the switch. The hyperdrive kicked in  
with a noisy whine and in the blink of an eye the starscape was replaced  
with the white streaks of hyperspace. Oh, he was grinning like crazy, a  
huge happy satisfied beam that seemed to light up the dim cockpit.

I couldn't resist him. I grabbed him and kissed him. Of course he had  
to stop smiling then, which was a shame, but I had plans for that mouth.  
I sat back in the pilots seat and freed my erection. I didn't have to  
say anything. Boy slid to his knees, all trace of that delicious smile  
wiped away by a frown of concentration. He looked almost grim as he  
leant forward and enveloped me in warm sucking heat. I had to bite back  
another surge of irritation. Couldn't he at least *act* a little more  
enthusiastic? He bobbed up and down on my cock like he was a  
mechanical. No appreciation of my many fine qualities, no sounds of  
pleasure, nothing.

I wanted to make the kid beg for it. I stood, dragging him up with me,  
and started pulling at his clothes. He reached down to pull off his  
boots but I growled, "Leave them...." Well, he did have to take them  
off, but they were soon back on his feet, and there he was, all pale  
flesh and clean muscular limbs, dressed in nothing but boots and a  
sultry little scowl.

He was getting lighter, I thought, as I lifted him onto the control  
panel. I pushed him backwards, parting his legs as he lay on the  
console. It was a beautiful sight, the strong leather boots and the  
sharp lines of the panel contrasting with the vulnerability of his  
position. His naked body seemed suddenly fragile against the steel and  
plas of the ship. So soft, so easily damaged.

I stood between his spread legs and ran my fingers up and down, stirring  
the soft hairs there and watching him wriggle. He looked at back me,  
eyes huge in his pale face, chest rising and falling in sharp little  
breaths and his booted feet swinging gently off the floor. I knew every  
inch of the control panel he was lying on, each button to press, every  
switch to flick, each spot that needed a gentle hand and every lump that  
needed a hard thump from time to time, and I swore I was going to learn  
every inch of the body lying there until I could coax the same  
responsiveness from his flesh as I could from the metal. There could  
only ever be one captain of a ship, and there could only be one Master.

I hooked my arms under his calves and pushed his legs up until he was  
waving those sexy leather boots in the air. He was totally at my mercy  
now, off balance, legs lifted and spread and his fingers scrabbling on  
the console to find some purchase. When I kissed his calf, he jerked  
like I'd taken a bite out of him. I licked up his inner thigh,  
breathing in the slight dampness and the taste of his sweat. When my  
nose nudged his balls he whimpered and tried to flinch away but my arms  
trapped him.

Finally, I leant forward and tasted him. He was warm and sweet and  
still soft as I'd forgotten the spice. I licked and lapped and then I  
took his entire cock in my mouth and began to suckle.

"Please..." he moaned. "Please, Master, you don't have to do this. Just  
do what you want to me, you don't have to make me..."

"Shut up!" I said, only, seeing as I had a mouthful of slowly hardening  
cock, it came out more like "Shmmph uph"

"Please..." he was whimpering. "Please don't."

"But I want to," I growled, pulling up briefly. "And its what I want  
that's important." He shut up.

I pushed his legs up further, impossibly far, until he was almost bent  
double in front of me. His sac in its nest of red curls and the darker  
skin below it was totally exposed to my gaze. And to my tongue. I dove  
in, nuzzling in between his cheeks, licking hard, trying to get in  
between.

"Open up," I said softly, breath ghosting over the crispy hairs of his  
balls. "Go on, hold yourself open for me."

He grabbed his own thighs and pulled and I lowered my face down to taste  
him, to smell him, to envelop myself in his heat and his flesh. I  
licked, and I sucked a little, and swirled my tongue around, pressing  
against his entrance and trying to find a part of him that didn't taste  
faintly of soap. I probed inside and found my tongue captured by that  
ring of muscle, pulsing faintly against me with each of his rasping  
breaths. I moaned and then, struck by his shuddering response, hummed  
some more, feeling it vibrate through his body.

A finger inside him, searching for that spot and he was arching up off  
the console with a gasp. By the time I added another finger, his legs  
were twitching seemingly uncontrollably with each thrust, boots banging  
jerkily on my shoulders or against the control panel.

"Please..." he whispered again, but this time I don't think he was  
asking me to stop.

I spat on my hand and added a third finger, feeling him slide slightly  
up the panel with each thrust. It would have had to have been a bit  
uncomfortable, but at least it wasn't me on bottom. No, I was definitely  
on top. My own cock felt raw, swollen, rock hard at the delicious  
sounds he was making and the absolute control I had over him. The power  
was running through my veins like a drug. I could do anything,  
anything....

I added the fourth finger and pushed in, just the tip. He gave a long  
shuddering moan that sounded like pain. I stopped. I was thinking... I  
was... well, you know what I was thinking.

"More?" I asked him, curious to see how he would take it.

He shook his head emphatically. "No. Please, no more."

He was right. I didn't have the right lube, and he was really far too  
fresh. I wasn't even up to the knuckles and he was stretched about as  
far as he could go. Still, I wasn't going to be complaining about him  
being too tight.

"You want something else, don't you?" I crowed. "You want me inside you,  
don't you Boy? Say it... Go on, beg me for it."

"Please, Master..."

"Please... what?"

"Please, I'd rather have your cock inside me, Master."

OK, so he wasn't exactly begging for it, but at least I got him to ask.  
It was a victory of sorts, and I was quite happy to take it. And him.

I stood and spat in my hand to slick myself up and then pushed his knees  
right up onto his chest. What a picture he made, pale skin against the  
metal, the long slow streaks of the stars above and behind him, and the  
darkened flesh at his groin, framed by the captured boots. I wanted to  
watch his face as I worked my way inside of him, but he tilted his head  
right back until all I could see was the long column of his neck, and  
the dimple in his chin, lit by the flashing stars and blinking  
navlights.

I kissed his neck, all the bits of him I could reach as we moved  
together, my hand on his cock, pushing him higher. I was flying, I was  
piloting him home. I was the captain of that ship and I was the Master,  
and then I was spilling myself inside him even as I felt the warm gush  
of his orgasm over my hand.

When I'd caught my breath, and my brain had finally spiralled back from  
wherever it had disappeared to I asked him, "So, Boy... did you see  
stars then?"

There was a silence, and the hum of the hyperdrive sounded loud over the  
blood still pounding in my ears. He still wasn't looking at me. I  
thought he wasn't going to reply but then he sighed, a little sadly  
perhaps. "Yes, Master," he said softly, "I saw stars."

*****

OK, so he annoyed me sometimes. See, he was never openly defiant,  
although he did tend to go his own way a lot of the time. There was  
nothing I could really put my finger on its just that... well, I knew  
that even if he belonged to me, I never really *owned* him. And the  
worst thing was... deep down, I think he knew it too. He was always  
polite, reserved, but he never let me touch the passion that I knew was  
lurking inside him, never opened up about how he was feeling.

Another thing that kicked my craw... I was his owner, and yet he  
constantly acted like he was better than me. I get that enough from the  
creeps I'm forced to deal with, I didn't need it from my frigging bed  
slave. He pushed and pushed at the boundaries of my tolerance. Well,  
finally he pushed too hard.

It was when I walked into his room once day. I just stuck my head in,  
actually. The little closet space wasn't really big enough for two  
people. There was a furtive scrabbling and he turned round to me, face  
expressionless.

"What was that, Boy?" I asked him, shouldering my way in.

"Nothing, master," he said, lying casually through his pretty teeth. "I  
was straightening my bedding."

I stooped and pulled apart his less than carefully made pallet and,  
without any great surprise, discovered his stash. There was a spare  
pair of pants, some tools, an old ID card of Jameel's, some loose  
change, a sharp little kitchen knife and about half a dozen nutri-bars.  
He'd been hiding them, waiting for his chance.

I was fucking livid. I'd been bloody good to him and the ungrateful  
little brat was planning on shooting through. Leaving me. I was so angry  
I could barely see straight.

"What's this?" I said, grabbing one of the foodsticks. "Not getting  
enough to eat? Come with me."

I grabbed him by the hair and hauled his ass out of there so fast his  
feet never touched the ground. He was trying to crawl on his knees as I  
dragged him over the floor, trying to stand, trying to grab at my arm  
for support. I flung him into the kitchen wall where he lay, sprawled  
and gasping. Then I grabbed the box of food bars and emptied them over  
him as he flinched away.

"You want more food?" I was yelling at him. "You want more? Go on! Take  
more! Take them all!"

I flung some fruit at him. He had his arms up to protect himself and he  
caught it without even looking at it. I threw more, really in a snit  
now.

"Go on! And lets see if you can eat it in all in five hours! Where the  
hell did you think you were going to go in that time? Five fucking  
hours... that's all you get, Boy! And then its Boom! Goodnight forever!"

"Its not five hours!" the kid yelled, scrambling to his feet. "You  
changed it. I've been watching you and you only put the code in once or  
twice a day now!"

"So fucking what, you stupid brat!" I was even angrier now that I knew  
he'd discovered my little deception, and I grabbed him by the throat and  
started shaking. "How far can you go? I'll tell you. Five standard  
miles before the rangefinder goes off! So you tell me, where the hell  
did you think you were going to go?"

"One mile, five miles! I don't care!" he cried. "Its five hours and  
five miles of freedom!"

"You can't go!" I screamed. "You can't go because you'll die! You can't  
die on me!"

I whacked him a good one, knocking him over. His arms had come up, but  
his training overcame his instincts and he dropped his hands at the last  
minute, allowing me to connect more solidly than I'd intended. It didn't  
make me feel any better, knowing that he could have blocked the blow.  
Balla knows, I wanted a fight.

"I'll sell you first! I'll sell you to the dirtiest nastiest brothel on  
Blevvins or Lakchat and see if I fucking care!"

His cheek was already darkening, and he just lay there looking dazed,  
wiping blood away from his lip with the back of a hand. I grabbed an  
ankle and pulled him into the bedroom. He protested, and tried to  
scramble away, but I grabbed his hair again and threw him on the bed. I  
was the master, and I was going to have to prove it, once again.

"Please, Master, I apologize for my behaviour!" he said, quite clearly.

"Very prettily said," I snarled. "But I don't believe you meant it." I  
wasn't in the mood to back down. His hands were up, protecting his  
head. I hit at him and he blocked and blocked, but I forced him further  
and further back and soon I was kneeling astride him. I caught his  
hands and pinned one of them under a knee, the other gripped tightly in  
my own hand.

"Time for naughty boys to be taught a lesson, I think." I must have  
looked like an evil bastard then because he tried to struggle even  
more. My weight on his belly meant he couldn't move very far.

I used my free hand to strip his shirt from him, and tie first one wrist  
and then the other to the bed head. He was bucking underneath me now,  
begging me, to please stop master, he was very sorry master and it  
wouldn't happen again, master.

"Please... you have my word as a..." he choked.

"As a what? As a stupid arrogant little fuck?" I kneed him hard to stop  
him from squirming as I tightened the shirt around his wrists.

"As... a whatever I am!" he cried. "Please!"

"Whatever you *were* is of no concern to me, asshole, and what you *are*  
is an uppity sex slave who needs some sense fucked into his stupid  
little head!"

I yanked off his pants and flipped him over. He cried out as his wrists  
took the strain and then kicked as I tried to grab a flailing ankle. It  
was glorious. I was so angry at him, I was relishing the fight he was  
giving me and yes, yes, yes, it was turning me on. He wanted it rough.  
Or even if he didn't want, that was how he was going to get it. But not  
just yet.

It wasn't long before I had one of his ankles tied to the bed too. I  
strolled around the bed, slowly undoing my belt. His head swivelled,  
trying to follow my actions.

He tried again. "Please master, please don't sell me. Please don't send  
me away."

So that was what he was bothered about, eh? Not a chance of me selling  
him, but there was no point in letting him know that. I let the end of  
the belt trail up his naked buttocks.

"We'll see about that," I said cruelly, "but first I want to see  
something else. I want to see your virginal skin wearing my marks. I  
want to see you screaming, and writhing as I kiss you with leather."

If he hadn't understood what I meant he soon figured it out. I raised  
the strap and brought it down hard on the backs of his thighs. He  
jumped. I did it again, a little higher this time, and he gasped and  
pushed his head into the mattress to stifle his cries. Well fine, if he  
wanted it that way...

I thought about how Jameel had enjoyed playing games occasionally and  
how he had all his little 'toys'. Shame, but I'd thrown most of them  
away. Ah well, I just had to make do with the leather belt. It  
certainly seemed to be having the right effect, raising long parallel  
welts across Boy's back and ass as I laid into him..

He was writhing in his bonds as the lash came down. Shame I didn't have  
a proper whip, as you can get much more control with those. It had been  
a lot of fun with my old lover. I watched the stripes bloom on Boy's  
back and the Old Man in my pants got harder and harder.

I thought about how Jameel had begged me for more, for harder and  
faster, how I'd mastered the art of whipping without leaving a scar and  
how he'd loved to play all sorts of games. About how Jameel had laughed  
when I chased him, and when I caught him, and when I dragged him  
playfully kicking and screaming to my bed and then laughed again as I  
tied him up. And then something was happening to my eyes, and  
everything went blurry, and I could see that Boy wasn't squirming  
seductively in his bonds, offering up his ass to be spanked. Boy wasn't  
laughing at all and those shoulders were shaking from suppressed sobs.  
Boy wasn't squealing in mock terror as I threatened him, he was lying  
there with his eyes distant and filled with pain, just waiting for me to  
get it over with. He wasn't... awww, fuck... fuck!fuck!fuck!

I dropped that stupid belt like it was a red-hot hyper-wire, feeling  
like... the biggest fucking jerk, the worst kind of asshole this side of  
the galaxy. My hands were trembling as I undid the bonds on Boy's  
wrists and ankles and pulled him into my arms, trying to soothe the  
hurts.

"I'm sorry," I said, shaking, and trying to smooth his short hair which  
had gone spiky with sweat. "I'm so sorry. I had no... no right to do  
that."

"I guess I've learned my lesson, then," he said, and he shivered. I  
pulled a blanket up around him and he hugged it to him like it was a  
cloak.

"I'm not going to sell you, OK?"

He nodded, but he wasn't really looking at me. He was staring off at the  
wall and blinking rapidly. I felt a lump in my throat and turned his  
head to face me so that I could look at him.

I watched with a sinking feeling in my gut as those grey eyes just  
filled with water. He raised an hand abruptly to press on his eyelids,  
refusing to let the tears fall. It was as if he thought he shouldn't  
cry for having been ripped from his life, then violated in mind and in  
body. Suddenly, instead of the self possessed young man I had thought I  
was buying, I found that I had on my hands a frightened and confused kid  
who was doing a bloody brave job of holding it all together and who had  
suddenly had enough.

I wanted to hold him. I would have, you know, but I'd been just as much  
a part of it as that creep Saartor and his ilk. I had no right, you  
see. No right at all to try and comfort him. And how could I tell him  
it was going to be all right? Because it bloody wasn't going to be all  
right. And it never would be again.

I stood abruptly, almost tipping him onto the floor. I couldn't bear  
it, you see, couldn't face it. Everything was crashing and I had to get  
away from the wreck of my fantasy as it sat there in the ruin of my bed,  
holding back tears. I didn't look back as I swung out of the room,  
leaving him alone.

I fixed myself a stiff drink, and then another. When I finally got a  
grip on myself, I went back to find that the pillow was dry and the Boy  
was nowhere to be seen.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I'm sorry this part took so long, but by way of  
>  apology at least it's the biggest chapter so far. Whenever  
>  you drop the ball of wool for a while it gets hopelessly  
>  tangled and I am forever indebted to WunderBeta Greenie for  
>  helping me pick the threads up again and knit them back  
>  together. Thank you also to RavenD and the BICsters for  
>  being such a good sounding board when I was stressing about  
>  characterisation and plot (or lack thereof).
> 
> *****
> 
> Quick Recap of Chapters 1-6: A spaceship captain, while  
>  drunk and flush with money, buys a mind-wiped pleasure slave  
>  with short hair and a long thin braid at an auction, takes  
>  him home and relieves him of his dubious virginity. The new  
>  owner thinks all his fantasies have come true, getting to  
>  fuck an attractive slave whenever he wants to, as well as  
>  having someone to work for him. "Boy" is prevented from  
>  escaping by virtue of an exploding implant somewhere in his  
>  body but when he is caught hoarding food and tools for a  
>  possible escape attempt, the owner is livid. He drags his  
>  slave into the bedroom and belts him, only to realise he's  
>  being an arsehole. Appalled at his own behaviour he storms  
>  out of the room. When he returns, he finds that Boy has  
>  disappeared...

OK, so I panicked.

The bedroom was empty, and so was the fresher. I yelled. I  
kicked things. I cursed the little bugger to Coruscant and  
back. There was no reply. I stood there, baffled. There was  
no way out of the room except past me, so where the fuck had  
he gone? Then I noticed the curtains were fluttering and the  
window leading to the balcony was wide open. Oh shit...

It was a long way down. The kid would be part of the  
pavement if he'd jumped. My heart was in my mouth as I  
slowly craned my head over the edge, fully expecting to see  
a bloody mess down there. Nothing. I nearly went over the  
railing myself, my knees going weak with relief.

Well, I finally remembered the detonator remote. I'd gone  
and forgotten all about it in the heat of the moment but now  
I grabbed for it desperately. The first thing I did was set  
the distance trigger on maximum. I didn't want to chance  
him moving out of range and ending up splattered all over  
the shop.

I had to find him, and soon. Anything could happen out  
there. See, the kid might be no push-over but he wasn't  
exactly street-smart. He could be walking into trouble  
without even realising it. Verduine might be a backwater but  
there's still people you want to avoid, places you don't  
want to go, if you know what I mean. Even the local  
Gendarmes would probably return him to me in a somewhat used  
condition.

I poked the remote a bit, careful not to set it off. Handy  
little devices if you can forget for a moment what the  
damned things are used for. Anyway, it actually had a built  
in tracker. I'd not really taken much notice of that  
before, having had no use for it. The boy had been  
constantly underfoot, and if I'd wanted to know where he  
was, I'd just yelled.

Stupid thing was completely shonky though. I mean, when I  
finally sussed it out, it showed the kid moving away from me  
at a speed that was way beyond what was humanly possible.  
Piece of crap! To think that Boy's life was entrusted to a  
piece of shoddy workmanship like that just made me shudder.  
Mine too, as I'd spent a fair amount of my time intimately  
entwined with the boy and if he'd gone 'Splatt!' I'm sure it  
could have been rather nasty for me too.

Well, I had to go retrieve the kid before he hit serious  
trouble. I pulled my old swoop-bike out its dusty storage,  
kicked it into life and set off, hot on Boy's trail. He'd  
managed to get quite a way in such a short time, but the  
tracker showed he'd stopped about four miles away. I  
followed my electronic guide downhill all the way and wasn't  
surprised to find he'd ended up on the beach.

I used to come down here a bit myself. That's why I made a  
backwater world like Verduine my base, in actual fact.  
After... well, when I was suddenly on my own... I didn't  
want to be around people much, but space was just too  
empty. Everywhere I went, every port, every flop house and  
seedy bar, every inch of the bloody ship just reminded me of  
the person who should be next to me.

Boy wasn't hard to spot. I could see him in the distance, a  
grey figure against the darkening sky. I think he saw me  
too as I caught a glimpse of a pale oval pointed towards me  
before he turned back towards the ocean.

Stupid kid, I thought, almost annoyed at myself for feeling  
so relieved. At least he'd remembered to put some clothes  
on, although he wasn't really dressed for the weather. I  
wouldn't say it was freezing but the chill wind whipping up  
the sea spray certainly made it pretty nippy. It was also  
getting dark.

I didn't want to spook him so I cut the engines and let the  
bike just coast to a halt before leaving it to rest on its  
repulsorlifts on the sand. He ignored me. I strolled  
towards him, very casual, as if I was just getting a bit of  
fresh air before turning in for the night.

He didn't look much like an expensive pleasure slave, more  
like a street urchin. He was barefoot, the thin fabric of  
his shirt and pants soaked through and clinging to his body.  
The kid looked cold, his spine stiff with tension, and the  
dark nubby circles of his nipples stood out under the wet  
cloth. He was far from glamorous but I realised from the  
tightening of my pants that I still wanted him.

I watched as he picked up a pebble, waited a moment or two  
and then pitched it into the waves. He was still ignoring  
me.

So that was how it was going to be. Well, I wasn't to be  
outdone. I stooped, picked up a handful of pebbles and  
casually moved closer to him. He glanced at me and then,  
flicking another stone powerfully, he turned back to the  
waves. I pitched a small stone in too. He flicked a flat  
one, making it dance across the surface of a trough for a  
couple of bounces before it finally disappeared. I chucked  
another stone, larger this time, and it plopped into the  
water, any sound it made being drowned out by the hissing of  
the wave pulling back from the sand.

We traded stones in silence, nothing but the wind and the  
crashing waves in our ears. As I'd done many times before, I  
watched the ships from the spaceport tracking across the  
twilight sky, nav lights blinking, and the blue-white flare  
of the main engines kicking in, but even their muffled roar  
was drowned by the sound of the ocean. Finally I turned to  
the kid and yelled "Got anything to say?"

Boy shook his head and tossed another stone. I found a  
small flat one and tried to skim it across the surface. The  
waves were just too rough though. Even so, I'd actually got  
up to four bounces before he spoke again.

"I'm a coward," he yelled above the waves. "I was going to  
jump in and just swim away." He flung another stone away  
from him, like it was something he hated, and glared at me.

My eyes locked with his and I stepped closer, salt water  
swirling around my boots. For a moment the wind dropped and  
I could hear the bitterness in his tone.

"I was just going to swim for the horizon. I imagined it  
would be a race between drowning and exploding. Either way,"  
he said, turning back to the ocean and tossing another  
pebble in, "it would all be over." This last was yelled over  
the next encroaching wave. Boy waited for it to recede  
before continuing.

"But I couldn't do it." Another stone hit the water. "I'm a  
fucking coward!" Plop. "I realised, so help me," plop, "that  
I want to live!"

He swung around towards me, the wind whipping his plait  
across his face like a snake, and such fury on his face.  
"So you got me, alright?"

He hurled the entire handful of stones into the hissing  
water and wiped his palms on his leggings. And then he  
wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. I don't think he  
was crying, it was just the salt spray, but the gesture made  
me swallow all the angry words I'd wanted to fling at him.  
Like, how dare he even think of throwing away all that money  
I'd spent on him, what the fuck was he thinking of, scaring  
me like that and why oh why was he being such a pain in the  
ass?

I waited for a moment, while the receding water pulled sand  
from under my boots and then asked him carefully, "So,  
you're not going to run again?"

He shook his head and his face twisted up into a look of  
total defeat. "It's just so wrong! I can just sense the  
wrongness of it all. I'm not meant to be here, I know  
it...."

"Boy," I growled. "You sound like a whining brat, stomping  
your little foot and complaining that life ain't fair. Well,  
this may be news to you, kid, but life *ain't* fair. No  
one's going to come along to make it all better."

I waved my hand vaguely at the heavens, trying to  
indicate... fate, or destiny or something. "Sometimes bad  
things just happen and there ain't a damn thing you can do  
about it. You just got to take the cards life dealt you and  
play your hand," I said. "It's up to you to make the best  
of the bargain."

He just stood there looking at me, misery written all over  
his face. I sighed. "At least you're still in the game, you  
know? Dead ain't good for nothing...."

Boy nodded dully. "Yes, Master." And then his expression  
twisted, and he covered his face with his hands.

I didn't know what to do, didn't really know what to say. I  
reached out for him and grabbed his arm, feeling the tiny  
tremors in his body beneath the thin fabric.

"C'mon, kid." I said. "Let's just get back. I'm cold, I'm  
fed up and we've got another job in the morning."

The kid didn't move for a second or two, and then the stiff  
fingers slowly dropped and he nodded. He trailed me back to  
where I'd left the bike. Wrapping his sodden arms round me  
he sat behind me in silence all the way home.

Boy was very quiet for the rest of the evening. He cleaned  
up quickly and efficiently, stripping and remaking the bed,  
clearing away all evidence of our earlier... disagreement  
with a minimum of fuss. After serving the evening meal, he  
came to me and bowed.

"Have you any further need of me tonight, Master?" he asked  
me, standing there eyes downcast and all submissive.

I thought about it. I still felt a bit chilled from being  
down by the water and I thought we could cuddle up together  
to get warm again, share body heat, that sort of thing.  
Then I thought of his stiff back turned towards me and his  
sharp elbows and the way he wormed himself away from me in  
his sleep every night. I sighed.

"No, lad. We have an early start tomorrow. You go and get  
some rest," I said, reluctantly.

He nodded and bowed again, which I thought a little formal,  
and then slinked off to his tiny closet room. I waited  
until the door closed behind him before locking up for the  
night and taking myself off to bed. Alone.

*****

I woke to bliss. I was warm and relaxed and hard as a rock,  
my morning glory buried in some moist heat that moved and  
sucked and squeezed around me. For a second or two I wasn't  
sure if it was one of those really vivid dreams you have in  
the moments just before waking, and I thought the wonderful  
sensation would disappear as soon as I opened my eyes. My  
hips were pumping from the bed almost of their own accord  
and I just felt like I was going to explode any second. I  
reached down, surprised and yet unsurprised to find my  
fingers entangling themselves in Boy's hair, not holding him  
down but gently urging him on until I was buried to the root  
in his busy little mouth. It didn't take much after that,  
and I couldn't hold back my shuddering groan as I emptied  
myself down his throat.

When I finally opened my eyes he was kneeling on my bed,  
naked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Good morning, Master," he said quietly. "I have taken the  
liberty of preparing your breakfast."

And he had. There it was next to the bed on a tray, neatly  
presented with a napkin and all. I have *no* idea where he  
found the napkin. He passed it over to me as I sat up, and  
then padded softly out of the room. The next time I saw him  
he was standing by the entrance door, fully dressed, with  
our packed trav-bags at his feet. He stood there demurely,  
his head lowered.

And so began a very weird few weeks. I mean, if he'd been  
like this from the beginning I would have thought him to be  
just a well-trained and obedient slave, but this... this  
flesh-droid that suddenly took the place of my Boy was  
just... it wasn't *him*.

Suddenly there was no defiance in him, no pride, no spirit,  
no spark. The dancing stopped, the sitting down thinking  
thing stopped, the scowls, the glares, the the occasional  
flashes of humour he'd shown at unexpected times, all gone.

He seemed smaller somehow. While a teenager rattling around  
the place had been mildly irritating, this silent ghost who  
haunted the ship was even more unnerving. He came and went  
on silent feet, always ready where he was needed, as  
efficient as a droid when it came to loading and unloading,  
and never doing any more or less that what was expected of  
him. It was as if he had taken his presence, which had once  
filled every room he was in, and wrapped it closely around  
himself like a cloak until he and it occupied no more space  
than the shape of his body. The somewhat comforting clatter  
of having another person sharing my life and my space was  
gone. In its place was an obedient little shadow that did  
and said nothing out of turn.

Oh he was still responsive in bed, don't get me wrong. The  
kid did everything I asked, and even his earlier reluctance  
seemed buried under a quiet determination to please me, to  
be the perfect little fuck. He worked hard at getting me  
off, waking me at the beginning of each up-shift with a  
blow-job, or if I was awake enough, with a hard and  
energetic fuck. He was always clean, always oiled and ready  
for me to enter him. In some ways, I kinda missed the  
intimacy of preparing him myself, but my objections always  
melted away by the time I was thrusting into his body. But  
even in this he'd become a shadow of his former self. Oh,  
he got hard alright, and climaxed on cue, usually just  
moments after me, but the passion had gone. He no longer  
called out to his Master as he came.

One time, we got back to Verduine during a fairly  
spectacular sunset and I remarked on it. Boy didn't even  
look up and when I asked him why he said, "It's just the sun  
going down, Master."

And then there was the time when we were making a delivery  
to the Sin Centre on Krik-Tik-Mar, and just as we were  
leaving Boy spotted some clothes he wanted. Of course, he  
didn't come out and say, "I want that." No, he just stood in  
front of the stall until I came over to have a look, and  
then he just reached over and delicately touched the hem of  
the thing.

I looked at it. It was a very short black synthileather  
top, short sleeved and high collared but cropped at just  
below nipple height. It would look really good on him,  
displaying his neat musculature to its best advantage, but I  
was a little surprised. He'd never shown much interest in  
what I was dressing him in before. At the time I had no idea  
why he wanted it and so I asked him, "I thought you didn't  
like to wear this kind of whore stuff?"

Boy blushed and looked down. "I just want to please my  
master, Sir," he said, and then he looked up and his eyes  
met mine with such a look of sincerity that I ignored my  
suspicions and bought the damned thing.

See, I couldn't tell if he was faking it or if he'd really  
just decided that the best thing for him would be to accept  
his situation and act accordingly. It's funny, that's what  
I told him to do in the first place but now that he seemed  
to be taking my advice, I found that I didn't much like it  
at all.

I missed Boy. I missed the kid who snapped at me, who  
argued back, who let me know how he felt. I missed the wry  
sense of humour that attempted to make the best of the  
situation and, to be honest, I missed the virginal  
reluctance towards our coupling. It had made me work so  
much harder and given me such a sense of satisfaction when I  
finally bent him to my will.

Perhaps this feeling of something missing wouldn't have been  
so bad but for the fact that every so often I got a glimpse  
of the man behind the Pleasure Slave, an indication that  
underneath all the humility and submission there was still a  
real person there. Somewhere.

Like the time I sent him to deal with the Customs officials  
at Doraane Spacegate.... He'd seen me do it enough, he knew  
what to say to avoid undue attention. Not that I was too  
worried about a search, you know. I, ah, have my methods.  
All the same, I'd rather not have to put up with the hassle  
if I can help it. Boy, with his upper-level accent, and his  
ladies tea party manners would probably charm the pants off  
these slack jawed provincials, and we'd be unloaded at  
lightspeed.

Well the Officers were certainly charmed by him. In fact  
they were downright chatty. I could see him standing in  
amongst a group of them, talking. Boy was smiling and  
looking them in the eyes and he seemed so relaxed and  
confident I had to look twice to make sure it was him.

I suddenly found myself sweating. He hadn't gone and told  
them about the extra cargo, had he? Who's to say what he  
could get out of it? Maybe he could cut some kind of deal,  
get rid of me...

Casual as anything, I sauntered down the gangplank. It soon  
became obvious that my worries were just my own stupid  
imagination. There was nothing furtive going on, they were  
all smiles and head nodding.

"I'm sure that will be acceptable, but I'll have to check  
with my Master," Boy was saying in that rich kid's voice.  
At that they all turned to me and one of them bowed really  
low before another one of his mates nudged him.

"We thought you might want to use the Reddy-Haulit,  
Master... err, sir." One of them said. Another nodded. "Get  
you unloaded in half the time." He was nodding and bobbing  
his head, rubbing his hands together. Honestly, they were  
looking at me with this kind of *awe* on their faces. I  
don't know what Boy had said to them, but they were  
downright grovelling.

Well, I don't often get an offer to use the best and most  
modern equipment on Doraane, and I wasn't about to turn it  
down. I nodded my agreement and then turned back to the  
ship.

"Come, Boy,"

"Yes, Master," he said and followed me up the gangplank to  
start the unloading.

"So what was all that about?" I asked him.

"I'm sure I don't know, Master," he said, irritatingly  
toneless. "I'm just an ignorant slave."

And that was that. Frustrated, I let the matter drop. He was  
back in slave mode and we had goods to unload.

I tried to woo the brat, to drag him out of this weird  
attitude. I wanted to make him relax, make him smile, even  
if it was just once. During a stopover on Gor Handek, the  
so-called 'Haven of Hedonism' or, as I prefer to call it,  
'Pimp's Paradise', I took him out to a fancy eatery, one  
with real Human waiters instead of droid servers, like it  
was a date or something. It was a disaster. He wore the  
leather whore clothes and spent the whole time either trying  
to serve me or playing with his food. He might as well have  
been wearing a glowlite sign saying "Fucktoy".

By the end of the evening I'd had three offers to rent him  
for the night and one very generous offer to buy him. I  
figured the guy was drunk and talking out of his arse so I  
turned him down.

There was one slimebag in particular who got right up my  
nose. He sat... and I mean *sat* on the edge of our table,  
and started pawing the kid. Boy ignored the wandering hands,  
his face totally blank, like he thought it was nothing to be  
treated like meat. I was less tolerant. I told the scum to  
get his hands off the boy and take himself elsewhere.  
Honestly, my teeth hurt from the effort of not rearranging  
the creep's features.

"My friend," mister sleazy said, still fingering Boy's  
plait, "I don't think you know the true value of your  
merchandise here."

Boy suddenly stood, grabbed the man's wrist and in a flurry  
of movement so swift my eyes couldn't follow it, the creep's  
nose was squished into the table top and his arms locked up  
between his shoulder blades.

"My master asked you to remove your paws from his property,"  
Boy said, calm as anything. He hadn't even broken a sweat.  
"And I didn't hear him say you could call him 'friend'."

There was an awful tense silence as I contemplated what the  
penalty might be for a slave assaulting a free man, or even  
worse, for me allowing my slave to do it. The whole room had  
stopped, forks halfway to their gawping mouths, and the  
waiter was hurrying towards us flapping his hands.

There was a low chuckle from the table in front of me. "You  
can let me up, young man," the squished scumbag said. "You  
appear to be the genuine article. How amusing."

Boy looked to me, and when I nodded, hauled the man back up  
to his feet. I was relieved. The pusball brushed down his  
crumpled clothing and took himself off, still laughing.

Well, I didn't want to hang around. I thrust some credits at  
the hovering waiter and we left, boy trailing demurely after  
me... as if every eye in the fucking place wasn't following  
our each and every step to the door.

"What did you think you were doing?" I demanded, once we  
were safe outside. Forget the fact I'd wanted to hit the guy  
myself or that I'd wanted to see some spark of life in the  
kid, it was just too dangerous for a slave to act like that.

"He touched me without your permission, Master," Boy said,  
suddenly seeming very interested in the pavement. "I'm  
sorry, Master. I could feel your anger. Did I do wrong?"

"Yes, you did do fucking wrong! Where do I start?" I was  
annoyed, and part of it was because he was acting like a  
slave again. "I want to know what the fuck was going through  
your seemingly empty little head. First you act like a  
little slut so that pondscum wants to come and cop a feel  
and then without any warning, you suddenly decide to start  
throwing people over tables."

"How dare you make a scene like that! You ruined my dinner,  
ruined our evening off, and you're not in the slightest bit  
sorry for it!"

He dropped to his knees and bowed his head. "Master, I await  
your correction," he said humbly.

I lost it. Totally. I hauled him up and yelled into his  
face. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at?  
Auditioning for Puppet of the Week? Is that what you want?  
Me to stick my hand up your ass and speak for you?"

I gave him a good shake. "I've seen more life in a three day  
corpse than in you lately!"

"Master," he said calmly, doing nothing to dislodge my grip,  
"I am only trying to please you, to be what you wanted, what  
you paid for, just a pleasure slave."

"I didn't want just a pleasure slave!" I yelled. "I  
wanted..."

It was no good. I was too angry to think straight. I  
dragged him by the shirt collar -- and when he stumbled, by  
the hair -- all the way back to the room we were staying in.  
Boy didn't protest, although he looked a bit uncomfortable  
at times. The adrenaline was surging now, demanding action,  
fight or fuck. I shoved him into the room and kicked the  
door shut behind us.

"Strip! Now!" I barked. "Then get on the bed, face down and  
ass up."

Boy looked at me then, and his eyes flashed dark with --  
anger. Yes! I thought, he's going to put up a fight, he's  
going to respond. A shiver that was a little like fear, a  
little like hunger went through me. His hands came up,  
hesitated, and then started pulling efficiently at his  
clothes until he stood in a tumble of leather and silk. I  
growled in frustration. I wanted some reaction from him,  
something, anything -- and so I backhanded him across the  
face, knocking him towards the bed.

"Move, you slug!" I followed him, pushing him, prodding  
him. He grimaced and clenched his fists but he obeyed me,  
flinging himself face down on the bad. He quickly grabbed a  
pillow and shoved it under his hips and then he just lay  
there stiffly, ass raised and legs spread. Ready and waiting  
for me.

I freed my cock, stroked myself to hardness, and just took  
him. Kneed his legs further apart, used my thumbs to spread  
his cheeks and shoved straight in, no lube, nothing. Boy  
hissed in pain, and gasped again when I grabbed his hips and  
pulled him further back onto me.

I didn't touch his cock. I wouldn't let him come. My heart  
was hammering and I was so hyped I knew I wasn't going to  
last long. I just pounded away, faster and faster, and  
quickly reached an unsatisfying climax. I used him, and  
when I'd spilled myself inside him, I pushed him aside like  
a dirty grease-rag.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Boy lay there unmoving  
for long moments while I slowly undressed. The anger had  
cooled, and once again I was feeling like a shit-head. I  
didn't like that feeling, not at all. It was all Boy's  
fault. He'd made me....

Slowly, Boy stood and made his way awkwardly to the fresher.  
Without bacta he'd be sore for a few days, and I wondered if  
I'd done any real damage. I could hear him through the  
closed door, puking his guts into the head. So much for  
dinner.

I waited till I heard the sonics starting up and then lay  
back in the bed. Things couldn't go on like this. I didn't  
like the way he was acting. I didn't like the way he made  
me act. I made up my mind. I was going to have to sell him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So many people have helped me with  
> this story that I'm not quite sure where to  
> start: Wunderbeta Greenie has been fantasic  
> with the later chapters, and really helped me  
> find direction when I was floundering.  
> RavenD, Mac and Smitty have been brilliant,  
> totally invaluable, and MJ, Fukurou and Hilde  
> all offered help and some wonderful  
> suggestions.
> 
> I'd also like to thank the lovely ladies in  
> #bic for their patience and tolerance, and  
> Mac for holding my cyber-hand when I got Last  
> Part Postage Kneequiver.
> 
> In the Last Chapter: Boy runs away from his  
> owner but, thanks to the nasty little  
> explosive implant somewhere in his body, he  
> can't get far. Boy becomes increasingly  
> withdrawn, and his passive resistance really  
> begins to irritate his owner. Finally, after  
> a disastrous night out, the smuggler takes  
> out his frustrations on his slave.

I must have dozed. Anyway, next thing I knew  
I was blinking my eyes at the ceiling,  
wondering why I felt like I'd gone three  
rounds with a cargo hauler. And yeah, I do  
know how that feels.

It was still dark. My head was throbbing and  
my mouth tasted like I'd been cleaning out  
the sanit compactor with my tongue. Still, I  
didn't think I'd drunk that much the night  
before; no more than usual, anyway. Oh shit!  
It was starting to come back to me. The night  
before...

What the fuck had happened? And where was the  
kid anyway?

My stomach heaved and the bathroom suddenly  
seemed like a very good place to be. I  
lurched out of bed and sort of fell against  
the bathroom door, only to have it hit  
something and bounce right back at me. Just  
what you don't need when Huttese belly  
dancers are doing the changa changa behind  
your eyeballs.

I squeezed in to see what was stopping the  
door and found Boy laying curled up on the  
bathroom floor, just beginning to stir  
himself. He was wrapped only in a towel, and  
had obviously been napping from the slow  
blink of his eyes. His cheek was darkening  
where I'd hit him and his plait was undone,  
the strands of hair making crazy patterns on  
his skin where he'd lain on it. He looked  
like a sleepy child.

I stood there looking down at him, trying to  
push down the uncomfortable guilty feeling. I  
mean, I was telling myself I'd really done  
nothing wrong. I owned him. He was just  
property, a thing to be used and that's what  
I'd done. OK, I'd hit the kid, held him down  
and then I'd... I suppose I'd been a bit  
rough.

I stuck out my hand to help Boy up but he  
pulled back like a cornered womprat. He moved  
stiffly, but he stood without my help and  
faced me, eyes downcast. I let my hand drop,  
feeling uncomfortable. I wasn't quite sure  
what to say to him yet.

"Master?" he said, croakily. I wondered if  
he'd been crying, although there was no sign  
of any tears.

"Let's get out of this dump," I said,  
suddenly feeling very tired. Funny, I hadn't  
realised how much I wanted to get back into  
space until I said it.

I love the energy of a spaceport. Even though  
it was the wee small hours there was still  
plenty happening down at the dock. Spaceports  
never sleep. Well, they can be a bit quieter  
during local night-time, but there's always  
plenty of transports coming in from offworld  
that simply don't run on the same clock. Even  
if there's no craft leaving or arriving,  
there's cargo to load and unload, passengers  
coming and going, mechanics and droids  
working on engines and repairs. There's a  
real buzz in the atmosphere, and by the time  
I get past the entrance gates I already feel  
as if my journey's begun. Leaving my worries  
and the rest of that shit behind me on  
planet.

Boy and I walked past the massive passenger  
liners taking on provisions for the next haul  
out, past the big transport fleet barges  
taking on crew, and the busy little repair  
droids buzzing and scuttling around one  
battered old crate, overhauling its systems.  
I felt a bit better with each step. A little  
closer to home.

It seemed to take hardly any time to get the  
old bucket of bolts prepped for take-off. I  
was already on autopilot, going through the  
familiar motions without much thought. Boy  
seemed as keen as me to get off planet, but  
he kept just about as far away from me as he  
could.

We finally strapped down for takeoff just  
around local dawn and waited for clearance.  
Boy settled himself down in the co-pilot's  
seat, a little gingerly I noted, and fairly  
soon his head was nodding. I guess he hadn't  
really slept much. Finally, with a lurch and  
a roar, we were outbound, watching the  
glowing dawn sky turn black with stars. Free  
of that stinking planet, and I could finally  
relax... well, almost.

I turned to my co-pilot. He stared back at  
me, not saying a word.

"Boy, you're no use to me if you're going to  
fall asleep at the helm," I said,  
reasonably. It was as good an opening as I  
could think of. "Go lie down. I'll wake you  
at mid-shift and you can spell me, OK?"

He nodded tiredly and, leaning heavily on the  
arms of the seat, hauled himself up. He'd  
just about reached the cockpit door when I  
stopped him. "Boy?"

He turned, wary.

"Yes, Master..." he said. I was beginning to  
hate those two words; the way he said it now,  
the misery and resignation in his tone.

"About last night..." It was so hard to even  
mention it. "It's not going to happen again."

I didn't want to look up, but I had to see if  
it registered with him. I couldn't tell what  
he was thinking, not from that stony  
expression, and I guess there wasn't really a  
lot for him to say. He nodded and then left  
the cockpit. I was left alone with just the  
stars and my thoughts for company.

I used the time to get in touch with Saartors  
via the holo-net. I wanted to get the whole  
thing in motion before I changed my mind,  
before I had second thoughts. I mean, I  
didn't really know how to go about selling a  
slave. It's not like I ever made a habit of  
it. I didn't much like it, but that scumbag  
Saartor was the only contact I had in that  
whole dirty business.

The assholes I spoke to tried to brush me off  
\-- didn't wanna know about my problem,  
y'know? -- saying all sales were final and  
that if I had any complaints, well... tough.  
I tried to explain about the boy and suddenly  
I'm talking to Saartor himself. He smiled his  
slimy smile and rubbed his oily hands and  
said that, yes, he remembered the young man  
quite well indeed, and he hoped he hadn't  
given me any trouble.

Anyway, I told him that it wasn't working out  
and that I wanted to re-sell the boy. The  
slime-bag was ever-so helpful, especially  
when he realised I didn't want my money back,  
and said that he might be able to find me a  
buyer or two... for a small consideration, of  
course. We dickered back and forth over the  
terms, seeing as I had a few stipulations,  
but we finally agreed and Saartor, for some  
strange reason, seemed pretty relieved.

Up-shift was nearly over by the time we'd  
finished and so I made some caff in the  
galley and warmed up some pastries that I'd  
pocketed back on Gor Handek. Boy was dead to  
the galaxy, the bruise on his cheek gone blue  
and there were dark circles showing under his  
eyes. Part of me was saying that he wouldn't  
fetch much of a price like that, and another  
part of me just felt like a heel. Still, he'd  
always shown an uncanny ability to heal  
quickly. As long as he didn't earn any more,  
those bruises would soon be gone. I shook  
his shoulder to wake him, and he blinked  
sleepily.

"Here, Boy," I said, feeling awkward as I  
thrust the tray of food at him. "Eat this,  
get properly dressed and then come get me." I  
left him behind me, blinking in surprise and  
went back to check the auto-pilot.

It didn't seem long before he was back in the  
cockpit wearing clean clothes, his hair  
nicely braided once more. I vacated my seat  
and motioned him to sit down. He'd proven  
himself to be a fair pilot and I just had to  
trust him.

"Ok, Boy. She's yours. Auto-pilot's locked  
in, just keep the engines and the thrusters  
properly trimmed. Come get me at the end of  
mid-shift. And Boy..." I was squirming a bit,  
saying it, "when you wake me, you don't have  
to... do anything. Just stick your head  
through the door and make sure I'm up. Got  
that?"

Boy nodded, eyes wide with puzzlement, and I  
could feel him watching me all the way to the  
door.

Any spacer is used to broken sleep, you know,  
because even though your body might be  
telling you it's night-time, it might be  
broad daylight wherever you land next. Like I  
said, you get used to it, and you take  
whatever chances you get to rest. Not this  
time. For whatever reason, I lay tossing and  
turning for ages before finally drifting off  
into an uncomfortable sleep.

Softie that I am, I didn't touch him for a  
few days; didn't want to push it. It wasn't  
as if I really had the time, either. We had  
work to do and we were pretty much taking  
turns at the helm during the flights, and  
both of us were on deck when we got into  
port. Boy talked to the various officials  
when they needed to be charmed, and I dealt  
with the customers, and anyone who needed to  
be... persuaded more forcefully, shall we  
say. I even showed the lad a bit about  
hyperdrive maintenance. At least he knew one  
end of a spanner from the other.

See, that was one of the irritating things.  
I'd just about taught Boy all the ropes, got  
him almost to the point where he was a useful  
partner. I didn't trust him, nosirree, not  
as far as I could throw him, but as far as  
the day to day business stuff was concerned,  
the kid was coming along nicely. Now all that  
training was going to go to waste. Ah well,  
that's the way life is sometimes.

Eventually Boy and I ended up back on  
Verduine. With good reason. Saartor had been  
in touch and his customer was going to be  
arriving the next morning to inspect the  
merchandise. I'd told the slave trader that  
I wanted to find a nice rich businessman  
who'd treat the kid right, and smug old  
Saartor seemed confident that the deal would  
be sweet. I knew this could well be my last  
night with the kid, although he didn't know  
it yet and well, I guess I just wanted to  
make sure I enjoyed it.

Come-to-bed time, and Boy was looking a  
little nervous. I guess he'd noticed I was  
watching him. He would have slinked off to  
his little closet, but I shook my head,  
ushering him into my bedroom. He was fairly  
resigned to it, his hand automatically coming  
up to undo the buttons on his shirt.

I stopped him. "No, no, not so fast kid." He  
froze in place, waiting for my instruction.

I kicked off my shoes and settled down on my  
bed. Yeah, that was me. A man of leisure, an  
Oiliphant in my boudoir with my harem  
entertaining me. I motioned for Boy to  
continue. "Go on, lad," I said, "but slowly.  
Make a show of it. I want the works  
tonight."

He started gamely enough, even though he was  
as stiff as a droid. He did a half-hearted  
sort of bump and grind and began to undo his  
shirt, one button at a time, seemingly  
embarrassed. Mind you, I think it was this  
sort of naturalness that so turned me on  
about him. I dunno about other folks, but I  
haven't got much time for those professional  
sluts. When they dance for you it's all so  
practiced, so impersonal, that you might just  
as well be renting a holo.

Boy, on the other hand, was delicious. His  
grey eyes glittered over his flushed pink  
cheeks, still surprisingly shy after all we'd  
done together. He undid his shirt to the  
waist, and then leaned forward to pull off  
his boots. His braided hair fell down his  
bared chest, and his shirt gaped, giving me  
the tiniest glimpse of pinkish nipple. I slid  
my hand down the front my pants and felt the  
comfortable weight of the Old Man in there,  
slowly firming up.

He was still so fuckable, I thought. I'd had  
him in nearly every position I could think  
of, and yet I still wanted more from him. If  
only I could have had a bit more time... ah  
well. It would have been nice, but you can't  
go around having regrets about the past.

Soon Boy had the shirt off and had his thumbs  
hooked in his unbuttoned waistband, a grimace  
that I guess was supposed to be a seductive  
smile plastered across his face. He strolled  
towards me, swinging those hips and slowly,  
teasingly lowered his pants, swinging round  
to show me his pert little ass. As he bent to  
push the pants off he gave a little wiggle  
and the Monster jumped. Oh yes, very nice.

I had to frown then though. This pretty  
picture was not quite complete. For all his  
sensual moves, Boy wasn't even hard. Well, I  
had to do something about that. Like I  
said... I wanted to enjoy it all, and didn't  
want to have to worry about him enjoying it  
too. I pulled out the jar of spice and took a  
small fingerful. Boy watched the progress of  
my finger to my lips with half hooded eyes,  
almost calculating.

"Want some?" I said, holding up a well licked  
finger. Boy said nothing but when I beckoned  
him he edged a little closer. I dipped just  
the fingertip into the jar, then held it out  
to Boy. He didn't look like he was going to  
move for a moment, but just as I thought his  
brain had given up and gone home, he leant  
forward and took the finger in his mouth. I  
smiled. "You're getting to like this stuff,  
eh? Not quite so reluctant anymore..."

He sucked on my finger, swirling his tongue  
around the tip and then taking it deep within  
his slippery mouth. Oh yeah... he'd  
certainly been paying attention to his  
lessons over the past few tendays.

The next tiny dollop of the drug was on my  
lips. Boy leaned over me and his little  
moist pink tongue peeked out and cautiously  
licked my mouth. I grinned. It was so  
sweet. I undid my shirt and dropped a little  
bit of spice on my chest, pulling him onto my  
lap, his bare thighs straddling my hips.

"Take your time, kid," I reminded him.  
"We've got all night."

He cleaned me thoroughly. I wondered what I  
tasted like to him; all spice and sweat I  
guess, which is a combination I've always  
enjoyed myself. I smeared some spice on his  
hard little nipples and got a taste myself,  
suckling harder as he began to respond and  
writhe on top of me. A trail of spice down  
my belly, and it must have been pretty  
obvious where that was leading.

Boy looked up at me then, his eyes gone spice  
dark, and I nodded to him. With infinite  
care he opened my pants allowing my cock to  
spring free. Oh, it was huge and hard and  
so, so ready. My finger was shaking as I  
took the last pinch of spice and placed it  
gently on the very tip of the Monster's  
head. Boy smiled knowingly, pausing and  
snuffling in my short hairs while the spice  
burned.

"Boy..." I growled, and sighed as he closed  
his lips over my cock, licking up the slit  
and swirling his tongue over the head, easing  
the burning sensation of the spice but  
building another kind of heat. Boy's hands  
fisted in the bedding either side of he as he  
sucked and... oh yes... pulled my entire cock  
down his throat and swallowed around me.  
Balla's Tits, the boy had been practicing. He  
drank it all down as I came in his throat. I  
lay there gasping for a while, Boy stretched  
out stiffly next to me, his erection nudging  
my hip. He wasn't done yet and I certainly  
still wanted more. I considered for a moment  
and tipped his face up to look at me.

"I was thinking... would you like to do me  
instead?"

Boy looked a little puzzled so I spelled it  
out. His cock was warm and heavy in my hand,  
and I tugged on it gently, feeling its firm  
length. "Would you like to bury this sweet  
handful in between these gorgeous cheeks of  
mine? Fuck me...."

"If... if that's what my master wishes," he  
said.

"No," I said, trying not to be impatient. "I  
want to know if that's what you'd want. You  
wanna give it a go?" He was still looking at  
me blankly. "I just... I thought you might  
like it for a change."

Boy seemed to think about it, and then he  
squirmed a little. "If it's all the same to  
you, Master, I'd rather not." There was a  
little pause, and then he went on. "I just  
feel more comfortable if you... when you do  
it."

I guess I could relate to that. It wasn't  
his choice to be here, and if he felt better  
about it by not taking an active part, then I  
suppose I couldn't complain.

"Ok, kid," I sighed. It would have been nice,  
as it had been a while for me -- more than  
three years, I suppose. So I let him bring me  
back to hardness and spent a long while  
touching and stroking him, until I finally  
flipped his legs up over my shoulders and  
sank gratefully into his body.

He was so beautiful beneath me, his dark eyes  
half closed and his mouth half open and his  
head thrashing back and forth over the  
pillow. The plait snaking across his chest  
twitched like a live thing with his frantic  
movements, and his fingers clenched  
desperately on my arms. I drew it out,  
slowing down whenever I knew I was coming  
close, grasping his cock every time he  
started to flag but never quite enough to  
bring him over the edge. Back and forth, I  
pushed him until he was sobbing and begging  
me to finish it and to please, please let him  
come. I was crying out, babbling, calling  
him all sorts of soppy names and my legs were  
beginning to burn and it almost hurt to hold  
back any longer. I could feel his tension  
building, like we were sharing something  
deeper, touching, stroking until I could no  
longer tell where my body ended and his  
began.

Finally, finally, I just couldn't hold on and  
with a double scream that echoed round the  
room we both came, the Old Man exploding from  
the root in one of the best orgasms I could  
ever remember having. I was shaking as I  
collapsed on top of him, absently kissing his  
shoulder and burrowing into him, tears in my  
eyes.

After a while I had to move and rolled off  
him. I didn't want to let him go though. I  
was tired and mostly happy, but still hungry  
for the sensation of skin on skin. Boy was  
boneless, totally droopy, and I hugged him to  
me, pulling him so that he lay snuggled in my  
arms and my chin rested on the top of his  
hair. I felt content. More content than I  
had been for a while. I almost had second  
thoughts about selling him but then I  
realised, pleasant as this was, it was an  
illusion. He wasn't my lover. But it had  
been nice to be able to say goodbye this  
time.

Boy stirred a little awkwardly in my arms.

"You called me Jameel," he said.

"No I didn't," I said, annoyed. I thought  
back. "I said you reminded me of him, that's  
all. And you did, at first."

He shifted to look at me. "Was he your slave  
too?"

"No, of course not!" I was almost offended on  
Jameel's behalf. The idea of a man like that,  
with his guts and his energy and his passion  
for life being a slave was just plain loopy.  
"He was my business partner and well... just  
my partner.

"Where is he now?"

"He's dead, kid. Took the wrong job. I had a  
bad feeling about it from the start, but he  
did it anyway. Paid the price." It's funny,  
but lying there with Boy in my arms and his  
come slowly drying on my belly, I didn't  
really want to talk about Jameel.

"You miss him," Boy said quietly.

"Sure," I said. "A second pair of hands is  
always useful in this business. I'll miss you  
too, you know."

There was a bit of a pause.

"Miss me?" Boy said in a very small voice.

Oh yeah, I hadn't told him.

"I'm sorry, kid, but I'm going to have to  
sell you." I could feel him stiffening in my  
arms as I said it, and his fingers dug into  
my biceps. "Don't take it personal now.  
You've been great to have around, and I've  
really enjoyed getting in between those sweet  
cheeks of yours, but it's not working out.  
It's too much trouble. I've just decided I'm  
not really the slave-owning type."

He sat up, looking at me as if I'd hit him,  
shocked and a little resentful.

"I'm not going to sell you to a brothel or  
anything," I was quick to reassure him.  
"Private sale only. There's this rich  
merchant guy coming to inspect you in the  
morning. You'll have to look your best."

"Tomorrow?" he murmured. "So soon..."

His hand crept up to his throat and he looked  
distressed. He didn't say anything though.

"So, do you think you'll miss me?" I asked  
him.

"Master, if my new owner so chooses, I won't  
even remember you," he said, and shivered,  
laying his head back down on my shoulder so  
that I couldn't see his face. "I could have  
had another master before you, several even,  
and been a virgin for each of them. I really  
wouldn't know, although sometimes I think...  
sometimes I remember I once... loved someone.  
And was loved in return."

He lay curled up stiffly in my arms, and I  
held him, surprised to find he was shaking.

"Hey, kid," I said. "Hey, it's OK."

"No, it's not," he whispered, and then he  
turned his face into my chest and started  
crying.

"Shhh, shhh," I soothed him. "I'll find you a  
new master, a good man, someone who won't  
beat you. You'll have him wrapped around  
your little finger in no time, I'm sure." I  
smoothed his hair, grown longer in the time  
he'd been with me, and stroked his back.

"I hate you," he said at last.

"I know."

We slept then.

*****  
Warnings and header information in part 8a  
*****  
Posting in two parts because of size.  
This part should directly follow part 8a  
*****

So, this guy turns up the next morning. Boy  
seemed fairly calm about it all on the  
surface, but there was a kind of nervous  
energy about him, throttled down tight like  
an engine on idle, just waiting for that  
spark to ignite it. I sent him off to get  
ready, make himself look nice. I mean, I  
might prefer natural charm, but any guy who  
buys a pleasure slave usually expects the  
full works with bells and trinkets. Besides,  
I wanted to have a look at the guy first.  
Check him out. I've always had a nose for  
crooked dealing, you know, and like I said, I  
wanted to make sure the kid was going to a  
good home.

Saartor's buyer was not quite what I  
expected. He arrived alone for a start.  
Standard human. Tall. Bearded. Lots of hair.  
Looking for a boy for himself, he says. He  
was well-dressed in good quality clothes but  
nothing expensive or flashy. You can tell a  
lot from a person's clothes, but more from a  
person's hands. You can always change your  
clothes. This guy's hands were large and  
slightly calloused, the nails kept short and  
neat, like they were used to hard work. He  
said he was a trader or something, but unlike  
most merchants he didn't seem particularly  
keen to make small talk. Not that he was  
rude or anything, no, he was quite polished,  
almost sophisticated. He just seemed...  
preoccupied perhaps. Maybe he was embarrassed  
about buying a pleasure slave, I wouldn't  
know.

Anyway, this guy, and like I said, he's so  
tall he's an airtraffic hazard... he's acting  
towards me like I'm slime, and I'm not much  
liking it. But, potential customer and all,  
I had to smile through my teeth at him.  
Something was telling me this wasn't the man  
to cross.

"You'd be getting a good bargain here," I  
said to him. Trying to get him to talk a bit,  
you know. "He was a hot little virgin when I  
first got him, the sweetest ass you've ever  
seen, just ripe for the plucking. He's barely  
used, really, but I can tell you pal, he's  
fit and healthy, very flexible, and just  
nicely broken in. And responsive... he really  
goes off when you get him going. "

If looks were lasers I'd have been a black  
smudge on the carpet. Well, what did he  
expect? Did he think the boy would be  
untouched? "I'm glad to hear it," he grated.

I hastened to smooth over the awkwardness.  
"So he's only really had one owner. He's  
still fairly inexperienced, so it shouldn't  
be hard to train him to your own personal  
standards. And he's a quick study, bright  
and attentive, and if he lacks a certain  
enthusiasm he is at least compliant. At least  
he was after I made his position clear to  
him... if you know what I mean. Kid does  
need a firm hand, but he's worth it."

"You hit him?" He sounded outraged. Didn't  
this guy know hitting slaves was part of the  
job description for a Master? He was going to  
have to wise up pretty fast, but I wasn't  
going to be giving him any more pointers.

"Oh, not enough to cause any damage," I  
hastened to assure the man that the  
merchandise was in good condition. "Just  
enough to show him who was the boss."

"Indeed."

Oh I wasn't liking the vibe I was getting off  
this guy. I have no idea why he had taken  
against me, but I could feel the anger in  
him. He looked... he looked like he could  
handle himself in a scrap, what with the  
broken nose and the way he moved. He looked  
more like a fucking mercenary come into money  
than the soft merchant he was pretending to  
be. Those huge hands looked like they would  
be more at home on a blaster, or some kind of  
weapon, instead of roaming free over the body  
of *my* Boy. And if his hands were big, it  
was a fair bet he was... you know... all  
over. I didn't want the kid hurt.

"Balla's Tits! I don't know what your fucking  
problem is." I snarled, with a thrill of fear  
shooting up my spine as I confronted this  
dangerous man. "This kid... he's just a  
slave, alright, but I like him, and I want to  
know what you're going to do with him.  
Because if you're not going to treat him  
right, you ain't getting him, OK? Do you  
understand me? I'm not letting him go to  
someone who's going to fuck him raw or  
mistreat him in any way, not for any money!"

The anger seemed to drain out of the man at  
that. Lucky for me, I think. He inclined his  
head graciously.

"You have my word. If he's the sort of boy  
I'm looking for, I will not mistreat him. I  
will take him and train him to my  
requirements, and you won't have to worry  
about him being abused, by me or anyone  
else." He paused and there was slight edge  
to his voice as he added, "I'm glad to see  
you have some concern for your... property."

Ohoh. Here he was trading in human flesh,  
and having the nerve to lecture *me* about  
it, the hypocrite. I was about to go on,  
but he interrupted me.

"Look friend, I'd really like to see the  
merchandise now."

Ah well, it was what he'd come for. I hit  
the wall-com and summoned Boy in. There was  
a pause, and then the door opened and in  
walked... no, in stalked this exotic looking  
fucktoy exuding just plain raw sex. I swear  
he must squirted a whole vial of Ravish-Me  
all over himself.

Was this *my* Boy? Well, so much for talking  
up his lack of experience. No way could I  
pass this piece of walking seduction off as  
'nearly a virgin'.

You should have seen the kid. Really. He  
was... I wished right then and there that I  
didn't have to sell him, and only the fact  
that this merchant was already standing there  
gawping stopped me from calling off the sale.

Boy was wearing those whore clothes, the  
tight leather strappy pants and the cut off  
shirt with the high collar. He'd not really  
bothered with the gold body paint stuff, just  
a touch here and there to highlight his  
muscles and to hide the occasional skin flaw  
but he'd outlined those exotic eyes until  
they looked almost smoky. His hair was  
brushed till it fill soft and shiny about his  
face and the freshly made braid trailed once  
again down his taut chest.

The buyer gave a relieved kind of sigh.  
"Yes," he breathed. "He's just what I've been  
looking for." I had to collect myself so I  
could get on with the sale. Good little  
Boy... he'd just added thousands of credits  
to his asking price.

"He's just called 'Boy'," I said, which  
earned me a sharp look from the buyer. "Come  
here, feel how strong and firm he is, how  
soft his skin is."

I pulled Boy to me and ran my hands over his  
sweet rump for the last time. "Go on lad,  
strip."

"That won't be necessary," the merchant said,  
rather too hastily for my liking, but he  
beckoned the kid over to him. I pulled my  
hand away, already feeling the loss.

Boy slinked over, swinging his hips. His  
eyes were locked on the tall merchant's face,  
fixing him with a look that would melt  
plascrete.

I expected the buyer to fondle him, go the  
grope, but he didn't. He just stood there  
and raised his hand slowly to Boy's face,  
touching him reverently like he was one of  
the holy virgins of Andarres, not a  
well-fucked sex slave. His fingers gently  
traced the kid's cheekbone and trailed down  
along his jaw before coming to rest with the  
thumb dipping into that sexy little hollow in  
the boy's chin. Then he tipped the kid's  
face up to look at him, staring at him like  
he was trying to read his fortune in those  
eyes. Boy's tongue slipped out, and he  
licked his lips, his breath coming fast and  
shallow. Oh, I was impressed. He was really  
putting on a show for this guy.

The buyer's hand moved to take the kid's  
braid, smoothing down the long gold sprinkled  
length of it until it came to the bare skin  
of Boy's midriff and there it paused. Boy  
slowly took the large hand in his own and,  
still keeping his eyes locked on the other  
man's face, pushed the large hand down across  
his rippling belly and down into his pants,  
until it cupped his balls and clearly growing  
erection. Then he just stood there, gazing  
up seductively into the tall man's face,  
licking his lips. The merchant moaned  
faintly, standing there like he'd been  
shocked by a stunner.

I might as well have been invisible. The  
whole room -- fuck! -- the whole planet might  
just as well not have existed. I could  
almost see the erotic energy Boy was wrapping  
round this man. I'd had my doubts about him,  
but Boy had clearly decided this would be his  
new master, and I would have been a fool to  
stand between them.

I cleared my throat, before they decided to  
start going at it on the floor in front of  
me, and the merchant suddenly seemed to  
remember I was there. He looked at me, still  
slightly dazed, pulled his hand reluctantly  
from the kid's pants and said weakly "I'll  
take him."

He fumbled in his belt briefly and pulled out  
a small stone which might have been a navel  
jewel or something. It didn't look very  
valuable but he held it out towards the kid.  
"My... boy, I have a gift for you. One I  
think you'll appreciate."

Boy peered curiously at the stone. Maybe,  
like me, he was wondering what was so special  
about this little pebble, glowing in the palm  
of the tall guy's hand. An odd look came  
over Boy's face and he glanced up sharply at  
the buyer.

"What is it, Master?" he said.

I bit down on an unexpected surge of  
resentment, hearing my title being used to  
address this... so called merchant. The tall  
guy seemed happy enough about it though,  
almost beaming in fact.

Cautiously Boy put out a hand to touch the  
stone, but just before his fingertip reached  
it the big man's fingers closed about it.

"It's a key," the tall man said softly. "But  
perhaps it ought to wait until we are on my  
ship."

The price Mountain Man gave me was half again  
what I'd paid for him and even after  
Saartor's cut I made a tidy profit. He paid  
in Republic currency. I wasn't going to take  
it at first, but then I reconsidered and  
decided that Republic credits would do fine.  
After all, I do go there often enough and  
there's a couple of really good droid markets  
in the outer reaches. Still got the droid,  
actually. That's where my second astromech  
comes from.

So, I was counting the money, and he was  
standing there with one arm possessively  
round his adoring new slave, when he said to  
me, "You sound like a Corellian but you  
weren't born in Republic space, were you?"

He said it with absolute certainly. I don't  
know how he knew, and its not totally  
surprising but yeah, he was right. I said,  
"Yeah, my father was Corellian," and as far  
as I know, that's true, "but I was born in  
the space lanes somewhere between Iego and  
Aud Nuevo."

The so-called merchant nodded as if I was  
just confirming something he already knew.  
"Your life might have been a bit different in  
the Republic."

"I guess so," I shrugged. "But still, it  
suits me out here, the freedom of being my  
own master, always going new places, meeting  
new people. The things I've seen..."

He gave me a small tight smile. You know  
what? I bet he envied me! I bet he never got  
too much excitement any more, and that's why  
he wanted a hot new pleasure slave -- so he  
could re-live his glory days.

We swapped papers and I gave him the  
detonator remote, which he took like it was a  
poisoned snake. Boy had already packed his  
small bag of clothes and toiletries, so there  
was nothing for it but to see them both out  
the door, Boy falling in one pace behind this  
man as if he'd been doing it all his life.  
He paused as he passed me on the threshold  
and looked up at me like he was about to  
speak. I groped for something to say but  
nothing sprang to mind. I guess Boy felt the  
same because he just shrugged and then leaned  
up to swiftly kiss my cheek. I was  
surprised, as I didn't really think he'd  
thought much of me, but I suppose he might  
have been grateful I hadn't been a total  
bastard to him. And after all, I had been his  
first. As far as I know.

*****

It was very quiet in my place after they'd  
left. The regular roar of engines from the  
spaceport sounded distant, and I wondered  
which ship they were leaving on. I could hear  
the auto-vac humming to itself in another  
room, but otherwise there was only a heavy  
kind of stillness. Like someone had died or  
something. I was alone again.

I had a drink or two to celebrate the sale,  
and tried to plan how I was going to spend my  
money, but this empty feeling was gnawing at  
my belly, like mynocks on a power coupling.  
So, I pushed aside my plans and stood,  
looking around for something else to occupy  
my time. For whatever reason, I found myself  
wandering into Boy's closet room.

It was neat, as ever, the little pallet bed  
made and Jameel's old overalls left neatly  
folded in a corner. That did me. Kneeling  
down, I picked them up and buried my nose in  
the cloth, and even if it smelled mostly of  
mech-oil and washing lotion, there was still  
a little young man smell in there. I'm not  
one for snivelling over every little thing,  
you know, but I have to admit... I got a bit  
choked up.

It was then that something caught my eye.  
Where the overalls had been lying, the floor  
was stained with a few droplets of brown. I  
leaned closer. Blood, and by the colour of  
it, no more than a few hours old.

A nasty suspicion struck me and I started  
pulling apart the kid's bedding. Yep, a  
little knife from the kitchen with a wickedly  
sharp blade, and a length of bandage, half  
used...

The detonator.

The son-of-a-Hutt had cut out his own  
detonator.

Bemused, I sat back on my heels holding the  
little knife in one hand. He'd sat on the  
bed, I guessed, looking into the small mirror  
that I now noticed was propped against the  
wall at a curious angle and cut... By Balla,  
the kid had guts! I don't know how he knew  
where the bomb was, or how he'd managed to  
get it out without setting it off, but I was  
sure that's what he'd done. A few things fell  
into place now, like the way he'd thrown  
himself at Mister Moneybags, and the high  
collared shirt he'd wanted... and had been  
wearing when he'd left. The device must have  
been in his neck, or close to it, probably  
next to one of the arteries so only a small  
blast would be needed to kill him. I  
shuddered.

I even wondered about the way he'd been  
acting, if he hadn't been trying to get me to  
sell him all along. That dumb shit puppet  
routine had been almost guaranteed to get up  
my nose. You had to admire the kid.

Of course, the new guy wouldn't know the bomb  
had been removed. Boy couldn't have hidden  
it from me, not with the way I knew his body  
so well, but in the blink of an eye between  
one owner and the next the only real thing  
that stood between Boy and his precious  
freedom had been removed. Speaking of  
which...

I pulled his bed apart but didn't find  
anything. They could be taking off any  
second now, the useless remote stuffed in the  
unsuspecting merchant's pocket, and the  
distance control still on. Where was the  
bomb? Maybe, just maybe, he'd taken it with  
him. I could hear another ship lifting off, a  
little personal runabout by the high whine,  
and any second now the main engines would  
kick in.

And just about then my bed exploded.

Smoke started pouring out of my bedroom, and  
the sprinklers opened up like a Nuevan storm.  
He'd left it on my bloody bed, the little  
bugger! A 'going away' present, no doubt.  
And, I'm sorry, I should have been angry, but  
I couldn't help myself. I stood there in the  
pouring water, drenched to the skin and  
laughed my bloody head off.

The whole place was a bathing pool. The  
auto-vac squeaked as it rocketed past me,  
trying to find a dry place to hide, and I  
cracked up completely. I laughed until my  
sides hurt and the tears ran down my cheeks.  
Bloody kid! You just had to admire his balls.

Well, that was pretty much it. My life as a  
slave-owner didn't last long and, although it  
was fun at times, I don't think I'd ever  
bother with it again. I guess the point of  
this little story, is that you should think  
before you go buy somebody to fuck. It  
doesn't always work out quite the way you  
expected it.

I tell you, sweet cheeks, I still think of  
the boy sometimes, but I've not heard  
anything from him. Maybe he did get  
mindwiped again, which would have been sad.  
He might even be dead, as it's a few years  
ago now, and slaves don't usually last very  
long, you know... ah well, it's just the way  
things are. But I like to think he made it,  
you know? Duped that merchant and got away  
somehow and he's living out there in the  
stars somewhere, free and happy. I guess  
it's the sentimental fool in me but yeah... I  
have this odd idea that he's doing just fine.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystique 8th April 2001  
> http://www.ravenswing.com/~mystique/


End file.
